Spontaneous Combustion & Love at First Sight

Let me preface this post with the caveat that I'm exhausted. So this may not make any sense.

There's a rag downstairs that is soaked in gasoline. Don't ask why. Every time I walk by it, I envision piles of gas-soaked rags suddenly bursting into flame... remnants from safety trainings or somewhere.

And then I also envision those same piles of rags suddenly spawning frogs. If I learned one thing in high school biology, spontaneous generation is impossible. Frogs don't come from rags. Except for when they start talking about the beginnings of life, and then they backtrack and say full-grown amoebas can spawn from hot mineral broth, but not frogs from rags.

But that's a sidetrack.

Rags can burst into flame because of the vapors that ignite. But they don't ignite on their own - they always need heat from somewhere, or a spark, or a bunch of sunlight... otherwise the rag downstairs would already have caught fire.

In my mind, to make a massive metaphoric jump, I think that love sort of follows the same dichotomy. I don't think that full-grown love is going to grow out of my lackluster dating experience... just like frogs don't grow from rags soaked in gasoline. But I do think that there are definitely ways to cultivate love... and to make it more likely to happen.

I think that falling in love with a girl, at least in my case, is going to take an outside spark. Something beyond where I have control. If it were in my control... I definitely would have done it. But it hasn't happened yet.

So I have a few options. Soak the rag in gasoline, and try to develop the skills to be a great husband and father someday, learn to serve and honor women and communicate with them... Or do nothing and hope for spontaneous combustion of love without much fuel... Or give up, soak the rag in water, and refuse to believe that fire is even possible. I'm trying to choose the first... and I'm pretty convinced that it'll work out. Gasoline-soaked tags eventually combust. Which means I should throw out the one downstairs, or at least get a metal garbage can with a lid.

Wow. I just compared love to a rag soaked in gasoline. I'm really tired.