Moratorium, Or Did We Really Mean It?

[OK, I'm going to say it: Spring, you're springing a bit too much for my austere taste. Winter may have been S.A.D., but it was rational. Everyone's love-crazy right now. Either they're falling in love, they want to be in love, or they're formulating elaborate theories (and beautiful judicial prose) of love. Or all of the above.]

[I declare a moratorium. Should we talk about the weather? Should we talk about the government? Let's talk about sex, baby. What about your friends? Sing, muse.]

[I know what you're thinking: bit-terrrrr. And I won't deny that there has been some pucker in my pout. But since I have by various circumstances found myself to the side, I've had the chance to observe my fellow humans caught up in this fecund chase, and I'm a little sickened. Hard-won principles are compromised, lessons forgotten, intimacy fabricated rather than found. All the courageous stances, all the proud protestations of self-reliance - have they all been just "vamp until ready," to be shoved aside when That Barbara Cartland Moment finally, finally happens?]

[Most scary: should this sickness strike me, how much of my own elaborate Manifestoes will be revealed to be so much whistling in the dark?]

Previously