Ok, so I have at least a little bit of something figured out: The meaning of life is love. And since I stay away from absolutes, love is the solution to most problems. When you think about it, it really all does come back to love.

Step 1 is complete, because I've identified the source of everything. But, of course, this opens up a larger question: what is love?

During work today, I tried to narrow it down. Can you love anyone? My original answer was yes. But then I asked, can I love Hitler? I don't know, I want to say no. Can you love someone without knowing them? Yes, I sure do. But can you love someone without having ever met them? I don't know. That might mean you love the idea of them, but not them them. This gets complicated. I really didn't get much further than this.

All the while, "I Will" by The Beatles replayed in my head throughout the night.

So, I have a problem with love. It's wonderful, it's terrific, it's the best possible emotion you can experience. But it makes you so goddamn vulnerable. Really. Your happiness lies in the other person's hands. Why does it have to be this way? It makes my life so roller coaster-y. Unstable. Moody. And also a little hopeless, because it's pretty much unrequited love. And it hurts--the smallest things he does mean so much to me. He doesn't even realize it. So what does this mean?

It means I'm loving while expecting love in return. But I don't know how to do otherwise. Well, I can love apples and almonds without expecting them to love me back. So why not with him? Maybe he doesn't have to love me. He just has to smile...Ok, I feel like I'm not making sense, so I'm going to leave this unfinished. It flowed so much easier in my mind...