Oct. 11th, 2012

ghosthound: (Default)
So many thoughts tonight...

Spent time with Chelsea, Quentin and my other music friends tonight. Bought a case of beer, destroyed it with them and had drunken jam hijinks. It was glorious.

The thing is, during the hangout, I was confronted by someone I don't know very well, let's call him Mike, who was very upset. I inquired as to why, being drunk and too damn curious for my own good. He let me know that his girlfriend had left him. I tried to console him, gave him a beer, and he started explaining to me about the guy for whom she had left him. I got a cold pit in my stomach when trying to console him. I started to feel like an utterly awful person.

See, the problem is, I know the guy in question. I know him and he's fucking awesome. This guy in question is all sorts of amazing rolled into one human. He's often referred to, half-jokingly, as "cheat-on-your significant other" pretty. Tall, long limbed, pleasant musculature, long, dark hair, big green eyes, full lips and, to be very shallow, rumored to be generously endowed. He works at an observatory and plays classical piano like a deity. He's an honestly kindhearted dude, well-read, pleasantly nerdy, a feminist and, well, the sort of amazing person romance novels throw around that you really think might not exist in the real world.

The guy who was dumped is... well... He's a sort of dude people call "nice" because no other adjective really exists to describe him. He's really average in what appears to be every way. I am not saying this to detract from the dude at all. I truly mean that. I don't even know him really well. But, what I do know about him doesn't exactly make him seem impressive. His hobbies include... video games and anime on Netflix and drinking, I guess. He's immediately forgettable.

I felt fucking awful because I honestly couldn't blame his girlfriend, about whom I know nothing, for leaving him for the other guy. But that sort of sinking feeling got me thinking about my own life, about everyone's life.

There's always somebody out there who is the person that guy is to the dude who was dumped. Somebody who just fucking outdoes you in every possible way and can steal your life out from under you. Not just your significant other, but your job, your prospects, your sense of self.

They won't do it out of malice; they'll do it by existing. Perspective is at once useful and painfully unkind. It's math that way. Cold, blunt, dauntless truth. It throws you naked into the Andes and says "survive, you piece of shit."

So, knowing that, what do we do? Are we Aesop's ant? Do we prepare for the cold times? Do we await the possibility that such a person will swoop in, ruin everything and leave us to pick up the pieces of our lives?

How can we?

Should we even worry about that?

Presumably, there's someone above them, too. Some bigger fish, some predatory bird soaring above them, giving them reason to cast a wary glance to the skies.

But does that make you feel better or worse?

Both, I guess.

I know that a person ought to practice self-love. They ought to say, ideally, that they are working to make themselves the best they can be and they should love that. But what about what you can't change? What about what you want, or think you ought to want, but can not have? Do you simply accept that there will always be someone better? There's one thing to know that in theory, another to see it and have it pass by you in an unobtrusive fashion, leaving you only with musings, and rather another to have it smash into and ultimately through you.

It got me thinking on my own situation. To be blunt, I've always been fairly average-looking myself. I just got a lot of attention because I played music, could write and speak well and wasn't shy about proving that I was intelligent. That boldness and talent-pool made up for anything I'd lack in the looks department with my short, stocky body, crooked teeth and whatnot. That said, I've always been jealous of outright beautiful men. I've dated them and wondered why their hands were so hungry for my body when we made love. Why would a person actually lust after my body? What I am able to do is impressive and that makes sense to me. The rest of it perplexes me to no end.

Fucking mind... trying to sabotage me.

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ghosthound

January 2013

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