|
|
|
[poison ivy comes a-creepin around]
Consumed with jealousy.
Good, got that out. Now I have to clarify. I have this particular brand of jealousy that I attribute from "walking a mile in someone else's shoes" or what-have-you with ease... it's seeing how m-fing great they are, and all I lack. But I definitely love the object of my jealousy all the more.
I am a thinker. I have a sizeable emotional/irrational streak, of course, but that only comes out when you've gotten close, probably too close. The other 99.9% of the time I am overanalyzing everything to death. Most of the time I don't think this is anything terribly unique, maybe quirky a little, but not today. Today I am consumed with the greenest envy, more powerful than the color of money.
I saw her dancing. This girl, this woman, this human being. Totally unattached to everything. In her moment, but not even. She was a body, moving with the fluidity that only a body can. She's closing her eyes because she doesn't have to think about it. Sure, she studied moves for months. She's studied her whole life, actually. But her muscles know what to do anyway. Even if she forgot a beat, which she wouldn't, her body would know what to do. I imagine her caring for it. She knows the second she's sick, she can feel when she's ovulating and isn't afraid to let go for an orgasm, she knows exactly what is wrong and what to do when she's got a pain in her shoulder. This is her home.
Never am I more disgusted at my own inability. She is completely relaxed in her skin, and I feel like a foreignor in mine most of the time. I am so in my head, so completely oblivious to the most important tool I've been given, that I don't even know what's wrong with me. My brain knows I shouldn't eat that, I shouldn't do this, that I'm probably sick. But I'm so out of touch. So completely and utterly out of touch with my own home, basically the only thing I have for sure. I have to keep a timer to tell me when I'm about to have my period because I don't even know that much. My back has been tight for as long as I can remember, and I don't know how to let go.
In the most basic sense, I wonder if I am even me. What is me? And how come she can pull those two worlds together with such ease? She takes the emotions from the music and makes it movement, a sensory event. Just like I can pull words out of the air, this girl can go inside of herself and come out as moving art, completely one with this temple she's been given.
And I'm completely jealous.
And I think she's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
Am I in my body now, that her beauty can make me cry?
Being on the subject of jealousy, I'm not even as good at analyzing as anybody else. I found this excerpt from my friend Matt's blog, and it provoked so much emotion that I had to include it.
November 25th, 2003 - 12:09 am
I think that the life cycle is all backwards. You should die first, get it out of the way, then live twenty years in an old age home. You get kicked out when you're too young, you get a gold watch, you go to work. You work forty years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You go to college...until you're ready for high school. You go to grade school, you become a little kid, you play, you have no responsibilities, you become a little baby, you go back into the womb, and you spend your last nine months floating.
Finishing off as a gleam in somebody's eye.
|
|
