Oh, David Foster Wallace, how you remind me of college.
Not because of your high-blown prose and dense, deeply meaningful meanderings.
Not because sometimes you literally make me sweat while I read.
But because you are that boyfriend I can't let go. You are bad for me. You warp me. I hang in there with you through your every breath and then realize it was going nowhere; that you didn't love me after all and that you are just going to leave me hanging.
I leave you for a while, swearing that I've had enough. I walk away, in search of healing. I promise myself I will only put that much effort into someone who loves me back, who is kind to me and appreciates my loyalty.
I reluctantly trudge away and I leave you there with your Hideous Men. Then one day, out of nowhere, just when I think I've gotten over you, I Consider the Lobster and my heart melts and I'm overcome with fond nostalgia. The sweating nights gripping you tightly while you ramble in a fevered daze, trying not to throw you across the room in heartbreak and rage - all forgotten. And I tell myself I've grown. I tell myself I'm more self-assured now. I tell myself I'll just check in and see... I can always walk away if it gets too heavy.
You haunt me even when you're not around. Your wit, your way with words, your darkness. Oh, the darkness. My heart teeters on the precipice of your darkness. It's magnetic to me and treacherous. I want to save you over and over and revel in your sadness and cynicism all at once. Even when I turn my back, whispers of you are everywhere. My friends like you, casually mention you in conversation. Your quotes turn up like snapshots - unexpected. They pierce me and I hide my pain behind a laugh that is a little too loud and a dismissive wave. But you're always there somewhere, lurking around the edges of my consciousness.
Our last tryst was short. Two solid weeks in the beginning of Oblivion. You spoke to me directly. We had that connection. It can't have been mere coincidence that I should have just taken part in a focus group only days before running into you and your Mr. Squishy again. I thought we had an understanding. I thought it would be different. I suffered with you to the end only to be burned again. To be unceremoniously left with no explanation, no closure, not so much as a backward glance or even any resolution of why on earth that man was climbing up the building!?!? I swore it was the last time. My heart can't take this abuse anymore.
And then...
As casually as you please, my husband - my husband who knows my every weakness, of all people! - asked me to pick up his holds while I was at the library. And there you were, heavy and looming like Everest. My resolve is weak. Just a few pages while I wait for the monkeys to finish up, that's all. And just like that, I'm head over heels falling, doomed, into a long-term relationship with you.
Aptly: Infinite Jest.
Not because of your high-blown prose and dense, deeply meaningful meanderings.
Not because sometimes you literally make me sweat while I read.
But because you are that boyfriend I can't let go. You are bad for me. You warp me. I hang in there with you through your every breath and then realize it was going nowhere; that you didn't love me after all and that you are just going to leave me hanging.
I leave you for a while, swearing that I've had enough. I walk away, in search of healing. I promise myself I will only put that much effort into someone who loves me back, who is kind to me and appreciates my loyalty.
I reluctantly trudge away and I leave you there with your Hideous Men. Then one day, out of nowhere, just when I think I've gotten over you, I Consider the Lobster and my heart melts and I'm overcome with fond nostalgia. The sweating nights gripping you tightly while you ramble in a fevered daze, trying not to throw you across the room in heartbreak and rage - all forgotten. And I tell myself I've grown. I tell myself I'm more self-assured now. I tell myself I'll just check in and see... I can always walk away if it gets too heavy.
You haunt me even when you're not around. Your wit, your way with words, your darkness. Oh, the darkness. My heart teeters on the precipice of your darkness. It's magnetic to me and treacherous. I want to save you over and over and revel in your sadness and cynicism all at once. Even when I turn my back, whispers of you are everywhere. My friends like you, casually mention you in conversation. Your quotes turn up like snapshots - unexpected. They pierce me and I hide my pain behind a laugh that is a little too loud and a dismissive wave. But you're always there somewhere, lurking around the edges of my consciousness.
Our last tryst was short. Two solid weeks in the beginning of Oblivion. You spoke to me directly. We had that connection. It can't have been mere coincidence that I should have just taken part in a focus group only days before running into you and your Mr. Squishy again. I thought we had an understanding. I thought it would be different. I suffered with you to the end only to be burned again. To be unceremoniously left with no explanation, no closure, not so much as a backward glance or even any resolution of why on earth that man was climbing up the building!?!? I swore it was the last time. My heart can't take this abuse anymore.
And then...
As casually as you please, my husband - my husband who knows my every weakness, of all people! - asked me to pick up his holds while I was at the library. And there you were, heavy and looming like Everest. My resolve is weak. Just a few pages while I wait for the monkeys to finish up, that's all. And just like that, I'm head over heels falling, doomed, into a long-term relationship with you.
Aptly: Infinite Jest.
