why i am single part one: musicians are cancer

In honor of Valentine's Day, I'll be trying to post every day this week with some thoughts on relationships and the experiences I've had over the last five years. I had hoped to make this a round robin sort of deal with other bloggers, but me and my last minute ideas sort of shot that one. Sorry guys, it's just me this time.

The story starts the same way, almost every single time. There's a boy, a musician. The hair color generally changes, but not much else. He's funny, charming, brightens my day with his nonsensical and/or sarcastic and witty sayings. We embark on a relationship, things go sour, and I turn bitter. I'm left to ruminate on my mistakes for several months to a year, and then the cycle starts again.

I think the easiest way to describe this pathetic demonstration of insanity would be likening it to cancer. I wish I could take credit for this analogy, but it was from a friend the night I sat waiting for the Missy Higgins show to begin last summer. Pez thinks it would make a fantastic song title (specifically, for a FOB-esque song that doesn't actually feature the title in the lyrics). I sort of can't help but think of my brother every time I swear by this mantra.

The reason I am single is because musicians are literally cancer to me. I have no immunity built up to them; my t-cells will never make a comeback. Their witty words, bashful honesty and tortured souls are the poison that both exhilarates and harms me. Their moments of greatness that they deign to share with me are the disease and the cure. When I'm sick, there's nothing that can cure me like a brush with their artistic selves. Likewise, when I'm well, nothing can suck the life out of me like a glimpse of one of their unfortunately all-too-familiar faces.

I look at people who have been in remission for long periods of time, and I wonder if their feelings about their cancer are similar to how I feel about mine. The days that you're feeling good are really, really good. There will always be those rough days when you're weary and the medicine just doesn't seem to be helping. And there are the days where you're just hanging in there, living in the status quo, not quite recovered, but not sliding backwards, either. In some ways, those are the days I fear the most.

Most of the time, my days are in the good to middling range. Every now and then, though, I do get a bad one. I recently had one of those while going back to some old stomping grounds. And that tale will be told at another date, in 'why I am single, part two.'