Totally crushed out

If this here blog had one of them fancy things that sorted out every post into neat categories so that you could know at a glance whether you should even bother starting into it, this post would have the category of "Veering dangerously close to talking about my personal life which I swore I would stay away from". London? Consider yourselves...warned.

The subject today is crushes. Damn, damn, miserable, cursing crushes. I don't think that it's any accident that they're called "crushes", because they're often painful by design.

The way I see it, there are three types of crushes:

• The Crush Of The Wedding Ring: These actually shouldn't be called crushes, because they're (usually) fun. The crushee is married (or otherwise completely unattainable; see also Doesn't Swing Your Sexual Way Crush), so it's nothing but enjoyable. You can bask in the glow of this wonderful, beautiful person without ever having to worry if you should "do something about it" or if the other person is even remotely attracted to you. One person gets flattered, the other person gets to enjoy the feelings of attraction, and the questions and concerns are out the window. Ideal.


• The Interleague Crush: Dealing with this kind has been a matter of maturity to me. Getting into someone who is clearly out of my league used to not stop me being all mopey about it and beating myself senseless with the What If stick. But age has brought me a least a little wisdom, and now those impossibly beautiful women that I used to get sad about, I can now enjoy like the married crushes. And I know what you're thinking, that interleague play happens sometimes, but not in single A, if you catch my drift.


• The Crushing Crush: Yeah, we all know this one. The one where you (read: I) get all worked up over someone, analyzing and re-analyzing everything they say, how they talk to you or look at you, trying to somehow figure IF you should do anything because, let's say completely hypothetically that you work with this person, and you can't get a clear read on what their dating deal is. I promised myself I would never feel this way again, and I still find myself straying off into the mire again. Possibly. Theoretically. I mean, I'm talking about someone else. It's all pure fiction. Rumor. Heresay. Probably.