Diary of a Loon: A Modern Tale of Love and Insanity

Love is a serious matter?

I guess...

On the flipside... 
But who wants to be serious when you can be spectacularly ridiculous?

So crank up Beyoncé and Adele and wallow in the crazy. Turn the volume all the way to "Oh lawd, my neighbors are probably filing a noise complaint," Strut like you’re one heartbeat away from falling in love, or one wobble away from a face-plant in your stilettos. This one’s for all of us who’ve lost our damn minds in the name of love. 

You are not alone. 
There’s a club. 
We meet Tuesdays. 
Bring Guac and Tacos.

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Diary of a Loon

(A poem about love, or lunacy, depends on who you ask)

You move me to madness,
And make me lose my head.
Can I keep you in my pocket?
Can I hide you under my bed?

(Note: This is what Attachment Theory calls "Anxious Preoccupied".)

" Shut it, John and Mary! Leave me to my delulu!”

You make me want to scream and shout,
And sometimes pull out my hair.
Will you stick around for another week?
Or are you ready to vanish into thin air?

(Ah yes, Ambivalent Attachment: When “come here” and “go away” are said in the same breath while wearing yesterday’s eyeliner.)

“I’m not strange, Mary, you are!”

You seem to laugh at all my jokes
Then look fearfully away…
Must you really go home every night?
Or can I persuade you to stay?

(Classic oxytocin overdose, my friends. When the love hormone floods the brain and common sense packs its bags.)

“Who’s addicted, Sue?

Everyone around us is watching
To see how far this goes:
Have you also been infected?
Are you too in the midst madness’ throes?

(This, my darlings, is limbic resonance. Google it. Or don’t. It’s basically emotional Wi-Fi for the heart. And the signal strength is insane.)

“Oh Maria, Maria…”

What is this maddening madness?
Why does it linger, feeding on lies?
I left you behind long ago—
But peekaboo! I’m back—surprise!

(Dopamine addiction. Literally. Science says falling in love activates the same brain regions as a cocaine high. That explains a lot, doesn’t it?)

“Ok, I’m addicted, so what?”

It’s so damn complicated;
But you say that you are true…
If that’s the case, please surrender,
And stop making me feel so blue.

(Ladies and gents: The prefrontal cortex, which controls logic and reasoning, takes a nap during early attachment. This is why we text back after red flags. Yes, those red flags.)

“But I like flags!”

Moral of the Story: You Are Not Crazy. You Are In Love.

Look, it’s easy to dismiss ourselves as fools when we’re crushing hard.

When we’re plotting elaborate text replies, decoding IG Stories looking for hidden messages, and obsessing over whether that “haha” in the DMs was just polite… or a soul-bonding laugh that means he’s so into you.
 "It’s a chuckle. Calm down, Breathe, babe."

Or worse - knowing you’ve been muted, wrapped in an invisibility cloak you never asked for.

But here’s the beautiful, maddening twist:
Love is madness. It’s supposed to be.
Evolutionarily speaking, if we were rational about this, humanity wouldn’t even exist.
Our ancestors saw someone cute and thought,
“I need to protect you from saber-tooth tigers and make sure you have berries.”
Now it’s, “Will you watch Star Trek reruns with me for the next 40 years?”
Same wild energy.

Different stakes.

Yes, love hijacks the brain.
Yes, it makes us lose all chill... and occasionally, our mascara.
But it also makes us dance.
It makes us write cringe poetry, send ridiculous selfies, and believe, against all logic, that this connection is cosmic.

And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need.
To be gloriously ridiculous.
To lose our cool.
To laugh until we ugly cry.

Because love isn’t about keeping your sanity intact.
It’s about surrendering to the ride.
The highs.
The heartbreaks.
The “what the hell am I doing” moments.
The giddy, reckless hope that makes your heart pound louder than the beats of Reggaeton.

So sit with it, babe. All of it.
The swooning.
The spiraling.

The silence after they leave you on read for days (or forever - "you know, you know").
The nights when you run out of chocolate, petrol, or patience.
The mornings when your leggings rip, your job ghosts you, and your hope wears thin.

Then…

Put on your boldest red lipstick.
Strap on your fiercest heels or your fluffiest socks, no judgment.
Blast your anthem. 

And set your mojo to MAX.
Because crazy in love?
That’s the story you’ll laugh about later.
The one that makes you feel alive again.
When time has blurred the pain.

And babe, that smile... man, the way he had you smiling?
That’s the real magic.