You know what they say about turning sorrow into treasured gold? (Yea, fine. 'They' = Adele.) I'm going to try doing just that. Because cranky just does not make the cut anymore. Also, there's something endearing about this blog that makes me want to be as cool as her, and take bullcrap with a sense of smugness.
So basically, the core issue here is an old pal - jealousy. Of all kinds imaginable. I've always gracefully accepted my tremendously jealous side that is unleashed with full poise at the drop of a hat. The hat in question being mine, of course. Besides, my clumsiness (in dealing with emotional bullshit and otherwise, in a general sense) ensures that the hat unfailingly keeps falling.
It's not something new to me. So whenever something jealousy-inciting happens, it's not like The Old Pal creeps up from behind while I'm not looking, catching me unaware. It's more like me swiveling around in a really cool armchair and proclaiming in the face of The Old Pal, "I've been expecting you." In Marlon Brando's voice. Smirks and all.
This is followed by all those attempts at becoming zen. You know, the kinds where you, with a halo around your head, feel that you can outsmart all those feelings of ill-will, rise above the shallow worldly trivialities that the lesser mortals indulge in and just for once, have the last laugh? It is almost accomplished, when the voice in my head echoes, in Samantha Jones' voice this time, "Ah. Fuck it." (I've begun to admire Samantha Jones, by the way. Especially the way she says 'Fuck it.'). So, this is when all hell breaks loose. *Tada!*
That all encompassing feeling that clouds commonest sense creeps on you. Remember that scene from The Mummy Returns where Imhotep is falling into this chasm full of scorpions? That.
After much contemplation, I've reached that conclusion that no, it's not because I have a huge insecurity complex or anything. It's just a general feeling of camaraderie that I feel with The Old Pal now. We've been together for so long, this was bound to happen. Whenever either of us is feeling left out or bored or just trying to escape preparing for an exam the next day (like right now), we just huddle up and venture in to that familiar territory where we're certain of finding fodder for our grey cells, that'll obscure everything else, especially those little things these suited people call 'bottomlines' in their corporate mumbo jumbo.
We basically relish the daily rush that comes from anticipating when the next episode on envy will spring up, what will trigger it, whether that'll be from bitch X's new, hot wardrobe or bitch Y flirting with favorite boy or bitch Z going on to make the world her oyster while I crib on a blog. (Oh, here the word 'bitch' has been used with gender neutrality.)
Did I just hear someone calling me sadistic? Well, maybe. Not that I'm particularly proud of it, though.
What was that Meredith Grey quote, again?
“Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way. Because without it, I don't know; maybe we just wouldn't feel real. What's that saying? Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop.”
That.
So basically, the core issue here is an old pal - jealousy. Of all kinds imaginable. I've always gracefully accepted my tremendously jealous side that is unleashed with full poise at the drop of a hat. The hat in question being mine, of course. Besides, my clumsiness (in dealing with emotional bullshit and otherwise, in a general sense) ensures that the hat unfailingly keeps falling.
It's not something new to me. So whenever something jealousy-inciting happens, it's not like The Old Pal creeps up from behind while I'm not looking, catching me unaware. It's more like me swiveling around in a really cool armchair and proclaiming in the face of The Old Pal, "I've been expecting you." In Marlon Brando's voice. Smirks and all.
This is followed by all those attempts at becoming zen. You know, the kinds where you, with a halo around your head, feel that you can outsmart all those feelings of ill-will, rise above the shallow worldly trivialities that the lesser mortals indulge in and just for once, have the last laugh? It is almost accomplished, when the voice in my head echoes, in Samantha Jones' voice this time, "Ah. Fuck it." (I've begun to admire Samantha Jones, by the way. Especially the way she says 'Fuck it.'). So, this is when all hell breaks loose. *Tada!*
That all encompassing feeling that clouds commonest sense creeps on you. Remember that scene from The Mummy Returns where Imhotep is falling into this chasm full of scorpions? That.
After much contemplation, I've reached that conclusion that no, it's not because I have a huge insecurity complex or anything. It's just a general feeling of camaraderie that I feel with The Old Pal now. We've been together for so long, this was bound to happen. Whenever either of us is feeling left out or bored or just trying to escape preparing for an exam the next day (like right now), we just huddle up and venture in to that familiar territory where we're certain of finding fodder for our grey cells, that'll obscure everything else, especially those little things these suited people call 'bottomlines' in their corporate mumbo jumbo.
We basically relish the daily rush that comes from anticipating when the next episode on envy will spring up, what will trigger it, whether that'll be from bitch X's new, hot wardrobe or bitch Y flirting with favorite boy or bitch Z going on to make the world her oyster while I crib on a blog. (Oh, here the word 'bitch' has been used with gender neutrality.)
Did I just hear someone calling me sadistic? Well, maybe. Not that I'm particularly proud of it, though.
What was that Meredith Grey quote, again?
“Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way. Because without it, I don't know; maybe we just wouldn't feel real. What's that saying? Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop.”
That.
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