Above is a photograph of one of the
local the homeless guys taken from our window with a zoom lens. I won’t get that
close. Ever. The little man in the blue hat who wanders about, drinks, hoots, screeches,
mumbles and drools in Piazza Santo Spirito. The other drunks don’t hang out
with him any longer because they all know, with their inebriate precognition
and probably their sense of smell, that he’s going to be the next one to die.
The only cool thing about being a
street drunk and a hopeless drug addict is that you never have to spend time looking
for a toilet. He’s polite though, always says “Buongiorno” when I shoo him away
from our doorstep. I think he’s a sad, lonely man though.
Lonely? Oh damn. Wait. It’s almost
Valentine’s Day again. It comes around about every six months because we can’t
get enough of that hopeless, bullying, codependent, expensive, unnecessary,
cynical holiday. Who doesn’t love “Love”? It’s a concept that is hard to
understand or define, but even if you don’t feel “love” or make “love” or have “love”
in your life, or you can’t clearly explain what it is and why you should be in
it, you should acknowledge it or else you feel like an unpatriotic, atheistic, animal-hating
lonely loser.
It’s OK to be alone. Better than
some relationships. There is nothing wrong with being sane and comfortable in
your own head and content in solitude. Who hasn’t been in a relationship, in
love, but couldn’t wait for the other person to go away for a couple of days? Don’t
lie.
This morning I read that a lot of
people who are alone buy presents for their pets on Valentine’s Day. Think
about that. It’s not enough that they completely control the trapped dog or
fish or lizard and squeeze it for every last drop of delusional impossible human
emotion, but they also transfer the abstraction of “love” onto the creature and
buy it a gift to show it how much they care. I don’t think it’s sexual; it’s
just another form of codependence and it might even be pure and sweet and
generous. Dog doesn’t know, cat can’t give a crap, fish has a brain the size of
a BB and isn’t smiling when you drop that extra flake of treat in its bowl.
It’s lost its little mind, swimming in tight circles. The rictus of near death disguised
as a grateful smile.
The good news for all solitary
celebrants is that it is easy to see how other people’s relationships are
progressing. If you participate in social media, check out the posts of your
friends who are married, coupled up, partnered. If you see the phrases Love of
My Life, Soulmate, or Heart’s Desire, that relationship is on the rocks. If
there are lots of old pix of the happy couple on their wedding day (Happiest
Day of Her/His Life), or if she is sitting down and he is standing behind her,
manly and protective, with his arm draped possessively around her neck, it’s
over and she may be in jeopardy.
The key to breaking the code for proclamations
of love is:
The more sentimental and gushy, the
more desperate and forcefully the commitment is declared, then the more deeply
troubled is the partnership. You don’t have to believe me, but in a few years
go back through your messages and check to see how many of those Soulmates are
still gazing dumbstruck and adoring into each other’s eyes.
The drunken guy is hollering again.
Is he shouting out his love for the crazy woman across the piazza who walks in
circles cursing at the top of her lungs for an hour every afternoon? I wonder if they have plans for V-day? Buy a
bottle and bellow incoherently, together? Soulmates.
