Flutter By.

I have a crush. It's so horrible. And it's wonderful.

There is nothing like a crush to make you feel horrible and wonderful all at once. As I get older, I find that they happen less frequently, but that doesn't mean they are any less intense than they were when you were, say, fifteen. The crush I had on Ashley G. from grades 9-12 was supremely intense. We both had 1984 Volvos; hers, blue and mine, mustard. Twin cars, and in my mind, twin souls. She was super-stressed out about her grades and would often break into heaving sobs after getting a B+ on an Honors English exam. I would always be waiting outside the door to our classroom to comfort her and tell her it was all going to be okay. She would cry in my arms and spend the rest of the day ignoring me. Years later, I would develop an unfortunate crush on an attorney that behaved in much the same manner.

I'm picturing my brain as rows upon rows of giant holes (abysses, really)lined up perfectly next to one another. Each hole has a cartoonish looking wooden sign next to it: There's the Job Hole, the Family Hole, the Depression Hole, the Creative Satisfaction Hole, the Relationship Hole, and of course, the Crush Hole. A series of shelves are hovering over the holes and on top of the shelves are jars willed with slimy, sticky green time. Each jar is one year and each year weighs about 100 pounds. The more years that go by without significant jobs/family/depressions/creative satisfaction/relationiships/crushes, the greater the burden on the shelf. After a few hundred pounds, the shelf cracks and the jars go tumbling into the abyss. The more jars, the louder and stickier the mess at the end of things.

I need to do more things in moderation.

My crush shelf has broken. I'm walking around with my heart fluttering and impending doom on my face.

I would love to know your crush stories. Did your armpits tingle? Did your heart palpitate? Did you blush or vomit? Please, make me feel better. Share.