A Very Depressing Contemplation of Desire for the Ultimate Frailty

I had a dream last night, where a girl I met at church quite a long ago appeared. At the time, she looked gorgeous. Donning shiny, long hair that reminds its admirers of silk, fashionable and eloquant, yet elegant choice of pieces accented by a tasteful selection of shimmering jewelry, soft cover of makeups emphasizing her angelic smile... ah, yes, she was very chic, indeed. Such quality of hers elavated that very being to a higher class than I am, if such thing exists today. But in the dream, she didn't have that quality of "higher class". Rather, she was just a little bit more down to Earth, plain looking--she wasn't as decorated with trinkets and cloth pieces as I remember (not that she appeared nude, althought that certainly wouldn't be unwelcomed). She might have gotten a bit less "tight" (not that she gained weight). Appearing as though someone I can feel more close to, I could comfortably smile at her.

The point of my telling of this dream is that I was again reminded of how pitifully gullible to superficiality I am. We all are inclined to, or even bound to, be dictated by the "image" we call appearance, however, it is certainly worse in my case. When she was looking splendid, I treated her as though she belonged in a completely different realm; someone to be praised but not to be close to, almost like a deity. The very second she wasn't so exquisitely decorated, albeit a dream, I was able to be comfortable next to her. She was reduced to another simple human being, of whom I could approach.

This is not to say that I don't want someone like her. I do, in fact, get all jolly and merry if such person shows even the slightest intention to graciously acknowledge my presence. The moment she opens her mouth to create a beautiful wave of music to address me, nothing more do I or can I desire! ..even if that was to talk to someone residing beside me. Anyways, even with that hunger for such beauty, the fear of chasing such a noble presence away by my meager status vastly exceeds my yearning for her. Instead, I hide my tail and distance myself as far as, and as fast as, possible from her before she'd lift the heavy smoke curtain I have employed to hinder her eventual but inevitable, dissappointing discovery of my true self; an egotistical, yet self-flagellating, ignorant rabble, who requires a constant look-up of a thesauraus to write even a tiny note on his un-inspiring blog in a futile attempt to sound a bit more intellectual, of which he has none. The facinating thing is that my abundant capability of exhibiting anal-retentive obstinacy has let me hold still the very desire that drives me crazy and into abyss called misery. It's more closely aligned with being suicidal than being plain pathetic. This is a long and lonely road to "unhappily ever-after" kind of life, of which there is no atonement for the unforgivable character flaw, or even a flicker in my mind to resist such vicious progression, which my entire existance is built upon.

And here I am, crying out loud, like a man-child, expressing a never-to-be-satisfied greed for beauty, while trying to cover up my synapse-deprieved brain with bloated words. But as they say, the first step to recovery is acceptance. Now that I have accepted my embarassing character flaw, maybe it will only get better from here on out? Sadly, the answer to that self-serving question is a resounding 'NO'. Thanks to my already-failing memory--I just turned 24, yet my brain-age is that of 80s! (Measured by Brain Age for Nintendo DS. Brain Age and DS are trademarks of Nintendo Company, Ltd.)--I am bound to repeat the disgusting glut I have written above. Whatever it was for.