Metaphors Lend Importance
Today is the first day of the start of my new life. Unfortunately, the new life is exactly like the previous one, only I’m one day older and put a couple extra miles on this worn out husk.
So my new thing is to start running. Maybe I can gain her respect and her heart by diving into one of her pastimes, and that is long distance running. Right now, I suppose I have little to lose, since I have yet to enjoy just being with her, hearing her dreams and goals, diving into the thoughts and ideals of this other human being. Now, I have nothing. So, I have little which can be sacrificed, nothing which can be given.
So I am more than willing to try anything to grab her attention, sacrificing the only thing I have to offer, my body, to a sport that screams at you to stop. Hmm. Maybe a marathon is the physical metaphor for this whole affair in some odd way.
Slow Day at the Office
Time is mutable, or at least our perception of its flow is susceptible to the tremors of our hearts. It seems like several days ago that we went to the marathon, and I discovered the fantastic news about her boyfriend. The mind is a fragile thing, weak to the influence of perspective, prior experiences, and emotion.
Sorry to subject you to my bad philosophical ranting. Not sure what I’m trying to get out of this. Maybe some sort of catharsis. Actually, I don’t want a catharsis at all. Those are only in tragedies. This is certainly playing out like a comedy, at least for the external observer. Of course, it would make everything move a lot smoother if I were one also, another member of the crowd, in on the joke. Instead, I’m the guy in the spotlight, humiliated for the amusement of others. Please, enjoy my misery. Delight in my pain. Laugh, smile, chuckle, indulge yourself in the bliss which of some unknown face’s tears. Turn the pages, flip to the next story, move on with your lives. I’ll still be here, head on my hands, down on my knees, praying for something to change.
The Fabric of Reality is Toilet Paper
Somehow, my life has turned itself into a ridiculous cartoon, a caricature of itself, some cosmically endorsed satire of itself, threatening to envelop and rip a hole in the fabric of reality, tragically imploding all matter upon itself. No, really.
After the early morning, and a long uneventful drive, we made it to the small town hosting the event, parked and found our friends preparing to run. We took a few shots for posterity and for before and after comparisons. We then followed the course as they ran, meeting them at a few locations along the way, taking more pictures and cheering them on. Right after the race, we met them, took a few more pictures, and had the chance to congratulate them. All fine. Her boyfriend was there as well. I was a bit surprised when I first saw him, not quite what I expected, a little bit underwhelming at first glance. So I wondered why this incredible woman was dating this person.
I found out. At lunch, we discovered that this person was, swear to the heavens, a fighter pilot. Who went to Duke and was a big fan of both Duke basketball and the New York Yankees. He might as well be the villain from a Disney picture, speaking with a French accent and smoking cigars in a dark room, slowly stroking a smirking cartoon cat. Back in reality, he’s a fighter pilot. That’s what men tell girls when they’re lying, trying to get laid at the bar. Only half a step below professional bowler on the attractiveness to women scale.
My cohorts tried to comfort me by saying that if I had to lose, at least it was to someone impressive. This failed miserably. I can’t lose, even to this guy. This is much too important. A woman like this comes around once in a lifetime, if we’re lucky. And I can’t let her just go. I can’t.
