At Least They're Committed

Having been openly critical of humans who have become overamorous and misconstrued my kindness and support, I imagine my unbridled enthusiasm at the prospect of helping  an individual out in any way can be a bit disconcerting, perhaps confusing. I can’t blame anyone who hasn’t lived my history for thinking, “Well, no wonder!” That this notion profoundly amuses me aside, know that for every creepy, obsessed, demanding and possessive freak I’ve told stories about, I have a library of former colleagues for whom I showed a great deal more support, protection and assistance, for whom I organized meals, visited when they were sick, took into my home, talked off the ledge, stayed by their side in good times and bad, people who are no longer colleagues but the greatest of friends. Someone I consider moderately sage once said to me, “I don’t think you can help who you love,” and although ‘love’ is a dirty word to me, I do think it’s true that people are called to deeply care about certain people, and need only pretend to care about the rest.