The Cold Genius

No, really, I just think you should hear, study and adopt my opinion, about your saggy bulging belly and your spindly legs. Because I'm the arbiter of human body beauty, the judge of the gym, and everyone knows I'm right and they should line up to hear my opinions.

What's that? I should keep my mouth shut about other people's business? My views are dogmatic and uninformed, founded on bias and ill-formed conceptions of what normal is? I'm a loud-mouthed arrogant poseur just flapping his gums to impress his weak-willed posse? My quasi homoerotic gym friendships have a sickening undercurrent of sadomasochistic fetishism? I'm pathetic, just pathetic, and everyone knows that behind my squishy biceps and soggy, slightly pendulous pecs quivers the soul of a petty and malicious coward?

You're right. Of course you are. I'd just have thought that since you're so perceptive, you'd be more compassionate as well -- more tactful, to help me move a bit closer to the light.

But enough about you. For my part, sometimes I get discouraged. It's not so much a lack of courage, as of encouragement. Sometimes, it's not hopelessness, it's just a lack of hope. Not always. Not even often, anymore. Things are better. That's why I don't write here as much as I used to. But I'm afraid of my self-destructiveness. I'm oppressed by the thought that, no matter the cause, internal or imposed, I am cursed. I'm afraid that I might some day fail those who are depending on me. I was meant to be a blessing. How terrible, to fail one's destiny.

No, we can't chose our fate. We can only rise to face it, or turn away. Knowing this in no way predicts the outcome.

What power art thou, who from below
Hast made me rise unwillingly and slow
From beds of everlasting snow?
See'st thou not how stiff and wondrous old,
Far unfit to bear the bitter cold,
I can scarcely move or draw my breath?
Let me, let me freeze again to death.


J