your reputation, or maybe your aura, benefits from a certain accidental stealthiness. allegedly your jealousy is a large, lively beast, rearing its ugly rear at the slightest provocation... but it hides behind your non-chattiness, and even when you mention it, there's more declaration than description.
zaes are wont to define things, but this time description is called for. ma ei soovin midagi, aga ma tahan midagi very specific... somethings. and i want them the same way i want food. no matter how i distract myself, nor what i use to do so, the longing pushes against my legs like a 30-lb. bob-tailed tom-cat. i have to use circular movement martial arts to stay upright. if i turn away from it thrice, it mrreowls and extends hooked claws, more like a malk than an adopted stray.
and i want them the same way i want certain foods. (metaphorical general caloric intake would never warrant a blog post.) and i want them times 4½ when i know someone else is enjoying them.
the classics are classic for good reason, clichéd as they are. jealousy is not compared to a flood (though it does wash over me, and pushes at me with as much force), nor is it likened unto a beast (except in this post, and i rather enjoy that comparison). instead, jealousy burns. it's an explosive, destructive consumption of energy. it can't be sated; feeding it helps it grow.
and yet something about it mesmerizes. i find jealousy of others (jealousy for me) intensely satisfying, like the first sniff of a newly-opened bottle of viking blod... or dad's rosemary-grilled beef ribs, which he buys at Wal-mart, of all places. how can any good come out of Wal-mart? anyways jealousy: electrifying heat, and many-hued light that draws my gaze despite a strong will to focus on anything else.
so, it's 7:43a and i, in my super-comfy boxer-briefs, recline on a fine leather couch near the heart of Tallinn. the breeze coming in (it's likely flown in all the way from the Baltic just for some facetime with lil old me... awww) is perfect. i've just finished my plate of munad, paprikaad, sibulad, ja õllevorst. my shoffee-cop music is klipsching on single repeat.
and still Grimalkin rakes his claws across the you-know-whats of my heart.
jealousy and the lonelies: cool band name? secret code for viking blod and rosemary beef ribs? you decide.
~ ~ ~
jealousy is indeed a fire. i can't say i'd abolish it entirely, because it does warm me... when it isn't my kindling that's being kindled, anyway. and roasting my desire for certain favorite people over an open fiiiiiire~ does lend that desire a nice flavor when it is eventually sated.
but the pairing of jealousy and samishii isn't delish. it totes not my goat, nor flips my boat, nor floats my skirt. actually it does what rancorous blisters do. sure, you can go on vacation to the wonderfulest place in the world, and get shamelessly groped by hot married blond baes (and boys... *sigh*) and have exotic mulled spiced wine served to you in an ancient stone fortress-turned-restaurant while the sun takes hours and hours to finish setting... but that seemingly tiny thing on the back of your heel is gonna burn, even when you're comfortably seated at said fortress, and the walk home, though externally picturesque and serene, is gonna hurt like Charles' dickens. like a mother. like the kurat.
and when you're lying in bed at night, or in the morning, or hwenever, with nothing to distract you, then the coup de grâce. all the ignored notifications will light up your amygdalae like a newly-impassioned tog's DIY LED panel, and even your dreams will succumb, warping until you get some kind of Alice in Wonderland meets [spoiler alert] a retired Denarian's death-curse.
and then you'll research subtly nuanced foreign language idioms and write whiny blogs as though you know what you're doing (though you're actually clueless when it comes to both).
ma kuradi igatsen sind, minu varandus.