The Definition of Crazypants

God or god or evolution or whatever-higher-power gave women three gifts:

1. Childbirth. (Can't wait!)
2. Periods. (Thanks!)
3. Insanity. (Awesome!)

This morning I decided I needed some Whitney Houston in my life as I drove to campus. I'd recently acquired a CD of hers from my grandma's collection and recognized most of the songs--or so I thought. Upon putting on the track "Saving All My Love For You", (a song I'd heard before, at least in part), I was somewhat horrified that this reminiscently awesome love song was really about some asshole married dude. So, in my utter coolness, I found myself talking back at Whitney as she sang. Look at the lyrics:

A few stolen moments is all that we share
You've got your family, and they need you there
Though I've tried to resist, being last on your list
But no other man's gonna do
So I'm saving all my love for you
(Why? I'm not following...)

It's not very easy, living all alone
My friends try and tell me, find a man of my own
But each time I try, I just break down and cry
Cause I'd rather be home feeling blue
So I'm saving all my love for you
(Wait. Okay he's married. And she's still saving all her love for him. This is a bad plan.)

You used to tell me we'd run away together
Love gives you the right to be free
You said be patient, just wait a little longer
But that's just an old fantasy
(Hold up, Whitney. No, no, no. He's not leaving his wife. He's using you. Red. Flag.)

Still, I'm saving all my love for you.
(Noooooooooo. Bad call.)

Someone-really-smart-who's-name-I-can't-remember said something like, "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome." By that distinction, Whitney is freakin' crazypants. But, perhaps we (woman, me) are all crazypants. My roommate Meagan and I were talking about--what else?--boys last Friday, and from that conversation, I came to some conclusions (or temporary musings, I can't think the same thing about anything longer than about ten minutes before deciding it's probably bullshit or me just being overly dramatic--shocker, I know):

First of all, happiness is terrifying. Because you just never know when it's going to end. I'm a little suspicious of happiness, in fact, and feel the need to analyze it. How happy am I? Have I ever been this happy? What kind of happiness is this? Where--exactly--is it coming from?

Second, and I'm pretty sure this is related to the first, I think it's almost natural for us (women, me) to gravitate toward people (men) and situations (relationships) we know won't make us happy. Maybe it's the drama or the challenge we enjoy, or maybe it's that being unhappy is somewhat easier. We know what to expect. We know how to cope. We know exactly how we will feel tomorrow, next week, etc. (Like shit.) There is a certain comfort in dissatisfaction because it's familiar. (Or at least has been for me.) Which is, yes, crazypants.

So maybe Whitney's plight in that song isn't so abnormal. Maybe I kinda get it. Maybe it's easier for her to save all her love for some douche who's cheating on his wife with her and making all sorts of promises he can't keep. Maybe she doesn't really expect him to get divorced and whisk her away. Maybe it would be more terrifying to imagine her life without him, no matter how difficult the situation is, because it's at least predictable.

And, clearly, I am not at all crazy for reading way too into some 90s power-ballad and thinking it may have some kind of deeper meaning.