Sunday, July 22, 2007

But I'm getting ahead of myself...

I'd be the first to admit that I have a tenuous relationship with my emotions. I suppose it has a great deal to do with the fact that most things aren't worth getting that excited about. Even as Matt, myself, and hundreds of others ran wide-eyed from what we all assumed was the great, groaning collapse of yet another skyscraping giant last week, I remained nonchalant in my terror, barely able to see the logic in running fast enough to dislodge my iPod from its holster. It was a costly item, after all.

Which reminded me of the iPod's purchaser and the gray twilight in which we parted ways forever, our grainy faces twisting in a nightmare diffusion. In those early morning hours, I can remember fighting to care, to summon something beyond mere contempt and incredulity. But it wasn't there. My sentiments were trite approximations. The idea of being upset. The notion of being heartbroken. A child playing at betrayal and affection. And as the curtain fell on that tired old farce of a pairing, I never shed a tear.

All that being said, it's sometimes a bit of a shock when I feel within me a wellspring of emotion that defies logic and control. I learned long ago to never follow your heart because your heart is a fool, and that treacherous path down which your foolheart leads you terminates at the back of the dragon's throat. Unfortunately for us poor dopes, fools can be woefully charming, and we find ourselves singing while we're singeing.

What I have to learn is that having feelings doesn't make me special. We all have feelings, dummy. And what seems like a deep throb of shared passion to some could be a simple warmth to others, nothing more. This is not to discredit either perception. Each is valid. But let's not drag another into the maelstrom with us against their will.

It should be said, though, as a final ambiguous thought, that what I overlook in brandishing an impassioned result is the journey itself. It's that experience, that present essence, that existential now that is most important.

Easy, Gabe. Easy.

7 comments:

D.W. said...

I just discovered that I have a vagina. And it's crying.

Gabe said...

I knew you had a vagina years ago. And the fact that you keep it in a jar is diabolical. No wonder it's crying.

John said...

Feelings don't make you special. That's what chromosomes are for.

Kath said...

Dial 1-800 sloppy vagina, as David Rabig would say. Or call Rectum Line, per John Ness.

Gabe said...

I'd hate to correct anyone, but David's impromptu phone number was 1-800-Sloppy-Pussy. Which is legend 'round these parts.

Kath said...

i know! i realized it as soon as i published the comment. blimey. or you could just call sir mixalot and kick those nasty thoughts.

Kath said...

can i be any whiter? sigh. the correct lyric is:

Dial 1-900-MIXALOT
And kick them nasty thoughts.