what is this thing called love?

this funny thing called love
just who can solve its mystery?
why should it make a fool of me?
I saw you there one wonderful day
you took my heart and threw it away.

"You gave me days of gladness; you gave me nights of cheer. You made my life an enchanted dream, until somebody else came near."

This song's been in my head for weeks now. Love is lovely transformation. I pretend I know nothing of pedestals, of putting people on them. I pretend my love is tangible. I pretend I'm free right now to go away, run away and be that girl (that woman) he thinks I am. Give up the sham I live for one day of reality with him--and then another part of me wants to dress up like Little Bo Peep (like I did one day in second grade) and herd imaginary sheep back into their pens forever. In other words, I don't want to grow up. I don't want to be looked at as a woman. There are too many connotations involved in being perceived that way. On the other hand, I want to be kind and sweet and grown-up in my cares and worries--to care and worry more about the person I love than I do about myself. I wonder if that selflessness is enough to carry one through a relationship. Are people that selfless, a whole life through? Is it wrong to want to be adored without worrying about adoring? I mean--for me, adoring, loving someone means not being myself. Being what they want me to be, out of love.

I don't think I know what I'm saying. Type it out, forget it. Louisiana's a wasteland.

mRRR!

I hardly know what to type here. I'm not sure what the point to having this thing is, except that it's easier than a diary and just as secure! (I like exclaimation points). I like spelling words in the British way. Honour is better than honor. I like the paper size in Britain better than in America. I like the history better. Second best is Canada (not the history, just the country). I might just defect; move away to Prince Edward Island forever and ever so I have a good view of the sea. I want to wrangle some Canadian cows in Saskatchewan and keep my eyes on the horizon until a good 10:30 pm.
I'm in love with a new actor this month, one Frank Converse by name. My, but he plays a good Doc Gibbs in "Old Town." The 30s was a perfect time in which to be born--no world war, and a bit old for Vietnam. Pity the men of the 50s. They're too young for me.
Honour my directives.
Lover's quarrels sound boring to me. The life of the nun is something on which I have great authority. Cloistered is my favorite word.