It’s infuriating to dissect beauty with words. My words wouldn’t really matter. I could write until my fingers bled and I still wouldn’t be able to match the high, the exhilaration of seeing physical perfection walk through and around the revolving doors of the heart. I can feign eloquence; I could be great with the conversation, funny with the jokes, but in the end, heads will turn not for wit, but beauty.
Yes, yes, it's the insecurity that's killing me. I don't have model-envy. I can't be better looking than what I am right now. But what do I do, what can I offer when the boyfriend is obssessing over a model who works in his house? My Buffy DVDs? ST Voyager's Prime Directive dilemma? The new Tanya Donelly CD?
As a geek I obsess and collect. Books. Comic books. Music. Concert tickets. Fish. A nerd studies things, memorizes dates and skeletal parts. A geek studies with passion.
In the American Heritage Dictionary, a geek is defined as "a carnival performer whose show consists of bizarre acts, such as biting the head off a live chicken.
Or "a person who is single-minded or accomplished in scientific or technical pursuits but is felt to be socially inept."
But people, we have moved on from eating chickens and being socially inept (it would be quite difficult to carry on a normal conversation with someone who is chewing on raw poultry and feathers, thus the inept-ness) to stylish, funny, socially-ept individuals who are single-minded in the pursuit of useless knowledge.
Who can question the loyalty of a geek to his favorite TV show? If I can be loyal to seven years of Whedon-myth, then surely I can give equal devotion, or maybe more, to love. If I cannot eat over dead-resurrecting nanoprobes, then surely I can eat less to be more 7 of 9-ish or Spike-like in body yummy-ness. If I get sad over the lyrics of District Sleeps Alone Tonight, then surely I can be a highly sensitive empath of a lover.
I guess, this is just not easy to see, not easy to appreciate.