Second entry. The first real step towards commitment is the second one. You can't really claim you've quit smoking until day two.

And what to write about? Today's lesson is on The Condition of Man. More specifically, the condition of "love." I hear a lot about it. People often mention their "love" each other, God, The U. S. of fuckin' A., and that pork tenderloin at Applebee's.

There seem to be all kinds and definitions of love. One loves one's parents, spouse, and dog; presumably, in different ways.

But for all intents and purposes, let's think about Romantic Love. The type of Love that makes babies, Valentine's cards, and (when it goes wrong) slashed tires and poisoned wine.

This Romantic Love sounds pretty good to me. Sounds like an answer to loneliness and boredom, always having someone to talk to.

But aside from the obvious benefits of an Other, with capital O, it seems there is something else going on here. There is a force at work, moving people. Women cry for it, men kill over it, and countless plays, books, and poems are conceived in its name.

Love is a mysterious thing, and in my life, I'm not sure I've felt it. I can say, to a certainty, that a whole heaping horde of people are experiencing something I'm not. I suppose the stoic thing would be saying "To hell with Other, I'll do just fine." The Manly thing might hitting the bar or yoga class or floral shoppe "on the prowl" for any particularly fetching and/or vulnerable young soul that will tolerate me.

Another thing I can say with certainty, I am lonely. I shouldn't be, I know. I have friends and family, blah blah blah. Others have something that I don't, and god dammit, I'm jealous. So what to do? What to do?

Love is not love,
which alters when it alteration finds,
or bends with the remover to remove;
O, no! It is an ever fixed mark,
that looks on tempests and is never shaken.
-Billy S.