Too Much Love Will Kill You.

Freddie Mercury and Luciano Pavarotti sang those words and I was never really able to understand what those words meant until recently. "How does this even work," I would ask myself. Love is wonderful. It's a wonderful feeling to know that people love you and want to be with you. It's so great when people take an interest in your wellbeing and do all they can to make you feel better...to a point. I recently came to discover that sometimes, being smothered in someone's love can lead you to your wit's end.

Imagine sitting in a car with an overbearing Jewish grandmother for about an hour, listening to her calling you baby names and asking questions to keep you engaged while your mouth is wired shut. My entire existence hinges on being able to make a witty comeback or say something smart to disarm the situation. Whenever my grandmother used to start doing that, I'd simply say something or answer or just say that I really have to go do something or think about something. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love my grandmother and I know she loves me. I understand that she means well and is only trying to help, but it's not. It's doing the opposite. My main defense mechanism has been taken away from me.

Our world is built around communication. If we cannot satisfactorily answer a question or if we feel that we did not get the point across well enough (unless that's the point), we feel this urge to explain it better. We need to be understood. Everyone wants to be understood. Oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood...or something like that. Anyway, it's uncivil, to say the least, when someone starts asking questions that require actual responses. Who? What? When? Where? How? Why? How can such a question be answered with a mouth wired shut. So, being civil, I start to try to explain with my inaudible moans (that's my best mode of communication) and when I cannot get the point across, she simply says "Don't worry about it. Just don't get nervous" and continues on to the next question which will inevitably rustle my Jimmies.

Then there is my sister who is like that child who wants to be with you out of love, but when you don't want her there...when you want to be alone, she takes it personally and storms out crying. She's like a deity. It's far too much to handle.

Sing it, Luciano!