A couple of people have commented to me directly about that last post, and I thought I should add some clarifications:
Type 2 love is not without passion or joy or wild crazy jungle sex. It just isn’t driven by these things. Type 2 love is the kind that you have to sit up in your seat and steer, unlike type 1 love (‘infatuation’? Thank you D.B.) which has a pronounced tendency to be on rails.
I would also add that, contrary to the opinions voiced by those who use ‘being in love’ as an excuse for rampaging destruction, type 1 love is still a voluntary thing. As a very clever man said to me recently: “You may not be able to control how you feel, but you can control what you do about it.”
My new replacement at work seems to be doing his best to drive me mad before I leave. He is a manic little british guy with a very low sense of humour, who seems to delight in breaking my concentration. He can probably also use Google. *sigh* If you’re reading this, A, rest assured that I would probably get along with you just fine if I didn’t have to bare all my most embarrassing workplace disasters for your benefit, eight hours a day.
My car is almost functional again… It has been a bit of a saga: first the prang, as documented in previous posts, then the tail-lights and fuel light dead, seemingly due to prang-damage, then the service and the new shock absorbers, then the timing belt exploding, just a few kilometers short of home, coming back from Porepunkah. Two days after that it was the alternator, stone dead on the way to work. I am seriously wishing I had gone with plan B and sold the thing, opting for a Smart car instead. Now I feel vaguely that I should make an effort to get my money’s worth out of all of these repairs. My once powerful and cruisy car is now teetering along on great floaty shock absorbers which bottom out at the slightest bump, gurgling and rattling and shaking, unable to yield the least ounce of power. I am afraid to ask WJM (my mechanic) any questions though, lest it cost me still more money.
Cars. Who needs ’em?