02-10-2005, 08:10 AM
Study Suggests You Can Die of a Broken Heart
Stress Hormones Cause Fatal Spasms, Scientists Find
By Rob Stein
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, February 10, 2005; Page A03
As Valentine's Day approaches, scientists have confirmed the lament of countless love sonnets and romance novels: People really can die of a broken heart, and the researchers now think they know why.
A traumatic breakup, the death of a loved one or even the shock of a surprise party can unleash a flood of stress hormones that can stun the heart, causing sudden, life-threatening heart spasms in otherwise healthy people, researchers reported yesterday.
02-10-2005, 12:39 PM
"Had we never loved so kindly, Had we never loved so blindly, Never met - or never parted, We had never been broken-hearted."
Author: Robert Burns "Ae Fond Kiss"
"I don't wish to imply that there aren't good things about you or that you're not an extraordinary person but I'd rather let other people enjoy the surprise"
Author: George Tsargas "now that it's over"
02-10-2005, 12:43 PM
It takes a minute to like someone, and hour to love someone, but to forget someone takes a life time....
02-12-2005, 05:03 AM
<blockquote><font class="small">Quote Voodoo Daddy:</font><hr> It takes a minute to like someone, and hour to love someone, but to forget someone takes a life time....
Hey dawg! Here's one for ya that kind of fits this thread...
THE BEST DIVORCE LETTER EVER...
I know the councelor said we shouldn't contact each other dureing our "cooling off" period, but i couldn't wait anymore. The day you left i swore i'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, i didn't want to be the first to make contact.
In my fantasies it was always you who came crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now i see my pride has costed me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending i don't miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the first move as long as one of us does.
Maybe ist's time to let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says, "there's knowone like you Connie,"i look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman i meet, but they are not you. They're not even close. Two weeks ago i met this girl at Flamingos and i brought here home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, just to illustrate the depth of my desperation.
She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that youth, and maybe a childhood spent ice skateing can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right? But as i sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, i thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so superficial.
What does a perfect body mean? Does it make you better in bed? Well, in this case , yes but you see what i'm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie? i doubt it. And i'd never really thought of that before.
I don't know, maybe i'm just growing up a little. Later, after i had tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, i found myself thinking "why do i feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless technique, or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did i feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same
because you wern't there to watch. do you know what i mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus connie, i'm going crazy without you. And everything i do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Angela, that single Mom we met at the Holiday Inn Lounge last year? Well, she droped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured i wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what she meant untill later, but that's not the real story.
Anyway we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this Tart's a total monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight, or her career, or whether the kids can here us. And all of a dudden she spots that tilting mirror on the back of your grandmothers old vanity. She puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totaly hot, but it's kinda sad too because it makes me think "why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years?, and we never used it as a sex toy."
Saterday your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all but she's got a good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given me lots of good advice about you, and about woman in general. She's pulling for us to get back together again, she really is. So we're doing jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and i think how much she looks like you when you were 18, and that just about makes me cry.
And then it turns out Vicky's realy into the whole anal thing, that gets me thinking about all the times i pressured you about trying it and how it probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when i'm thrusting inside your baby sisters cinnamon ring, all i can think of is you? It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can.
If you feel the same please, please, please let me know. Otherwise, can you let me know where the remote is?
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