how much?

I had a thought the other day that if I, in fact, ever want to be a writer, I can’t be consumed with something else in my life. When I’m really in a dark place, I come to the conclusion that this means I can’t be happy or in love and am destined to be a spinster. But maybe that’s not the answer. Maybe, it’s not healthy to be in an all-consuming relationship that blinds you to life. Because, when that fades, what are you left with? And, when it’s all consuming, and everything else in your life is relegated to the back burner, and then all of a sudden it’s gone, that is a deep loss, you stumble as to what to do next, re—establish some things you cherished, fumble on where to go next. I thought love was all about attention, being the centre of someone’s universe, and maybe it is, but maybe it’s an undercurrent, where you’re being yourself, doing your thing and they appreciate it, and love you for it, but don’t smother you with it. It doesn’t feel as visceral, but who says that’s what love is? How much is too much?