Pink Fluffy Love and Other Truths

I know that pink fluffy love is real.  I know what it feels like when it’s there and what it feels like when it’s not.  I know I like it better when I’m feeling it.  I know I like you better when I’m feeling it, and I certainly like myself better when I’m feeling it.

I also know that when I like myself better I can be nicer to myself and to you because it’s much easier.  You’re doing you, I’m doing me, maybe sometimes we’re together for whatever reason, sometimes we’re apart.  

We could be separated by beliefs, by geography, by customs, by emotional distance — fear, anger, sadness, that lonely coexistence thing so many physically together people have from time to time.  We could be separated by misunderstanding.  And the separation is okay.

But truthfully, I like it better when I’m together with other people.  When it’s pink fluffy love and we all agree and we all take care of each other and are nice to each other and feel great about ourselves and others.

I’m not sure I’ve ever lived in that kind of situation, because real humans don’t necessarily inhabit that kind of existence for big spans of time. But I can go to that place by myself in my mind. I can feel the love without having or being an object for the love. It’s just there.

I can get cozy somewhere and give myself permission to get out of this head full of hand sanitizer and logistics and squats and low glycemic index vegan snack options and maskdebaters and guilt and shame and fear and desire for things to be different from how they are.  I can choose, really choose, like I can choose to put lemon wedges in my water or moisturize my hands, I can choose to take care of myself in this little way that helps so much.  

I can go somewhere quiet-ish or get my earplugs and noise-cancelling headset, turn on the timer, turn off the ringer, and go to the place where it’s all pink fluffy love all the time in my head. And it’s soft, and my body is cradled in soft, all the hurty sore bits bathed in comfort, my brain floaty cool bobbing up and down light like a cloud in the sky moving without effort — an object whose sole job is to allow itself to be carried, like a jellyfish bobbing in a calm warm ocean.  Just for a bit.  Just for a little while.  

The debates and the unfolded laundry and the bills and the toilet that won’t stop running will be there afterwards.  But for me I know it all seems a bit easier, more doable, after I give myself a dose of that feeling of comfort, ease, safety, soothing. And dang it I forget that these days. These days that feel so busy, so filled with more pressing issues. But today I remembered. It works and I’m worth it. So yay love, yay me, yay you.

Now dishes.  I’m gonna keep going.  

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