The written word
I have always been in love. For as long as I can remember. Starting with the double-plait girl way back in the second grade.
Anyway, for some time now, every time I get a crush, I get this compulsive urge to write her name down. I think it first happened around the eleventh grade. I’ve fallen in love with quite a few women since then, and I’ve always had this compulsion. When my mind is idle, like in a lecture when the professor’s words are floating around in the air, these names are my doodles. This is a rather inconveniently dangerous habit for someone who likes to be as secretive about his crushes as me. I have to strike out my doodles hurriedly when I drift back out of the trance-like state into reality. Desk graffiti is harder.
Now I fancy myself an amateur psychoanalyst.
So I wonder, do I work myself into a mental state where the the object of my crush is the dominant goal of my subconscience even though, or perhaps because, consciously I’m too chicken to do anything about it?
The explanation I’m most convinced with is that the mind yearns to associate a physical form to the object of its desire. That name scribbled in the last page of my Control Systems notebook is my way of creating something that represents her. Something outside of my head, that I can stare at, and fall in love with.
It’s the power of the written word.