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theatrical_muse today.
Prompt 326: "Mourning is just extended self-pity."
The problem with having mortal friends, lovers or simply objects of interest when you're immortal is all the dying.
Mortals who make pets out of creatures with shorter life spans than they have know what I'm talking about. No matter how much you love your cat, there's a part of you deep down inside that's always getting ready to detach, because you *know* that unless a horrible tragedy happens to you, your cat will die in your life span. Which may be why mortal old ladies are willing to take on the burden of loving so many cats (or whatever... have you ever seen Vulcan matriarchs with twenty-seven chal'matyas running around their property? Sure, they *say* it's just logical because the quality of life of wild chal'matyas is so much lower than pet chal'matyas, and matriarchs whose great-grandchildren are adults can pass off all their duties to their families onto their own matriarchal daughters and spend their time rehabilitating wild chal'matyas... but come on. No one needs twenty-seven small, cute, fuzzy, venomous cat-lizard-things. But I digress.) Mortal oldsters know their own time might well run out before their pets' does.
This is not a situation I am ever in, for obvious reasons.
So I don't cry over dead mortals, because seriously, over billions of years that would be a whole lot of crying, and that would positively *ruin* my boyish complexion. Some have accused me of being utterly callous toward the death of other Q, however, because I don't seem to spend a whole lot of time mourning dead friends, either.
( Feel sorry for what you've lost all you want, but don't pretend it's nobler than that. )
theatrical_muse today.Prompt 326: "Mourning is just extended self-pity."
The problem with having mortal friends, lovers or simply objects of interest when you're immortal is all the dying.
Mortals who make pets out of creatures with shorter life spans than they have know what I'm talking about. No matter how much you love your cat, there's a part of you deep down inside that's always getting ready to detach, because you *know* that unless a horrible tragedy happens to you, your cat will die in your life span. Which may be why mortal old ladies are willing to take on the burden of loving so many cats (or whatever... have you ever seen Vulcan matriarchs with twenty-seven chal'matyas running around their property? Sure, they *say* it's just logical because the quality of life of wild chal'matyas is so much lower than pet chal'matyas, and matriarchs whose great-grandchildren are adults can pass off all their duties to their families onto their own matriarchal daughters and spend their time rehabilitating wild chal'matyas... but come on. No one needs twenty-seven small, cute, fuzzy, venomous cat-lizard-things. But I digress.) Mortal oldsters know their own time might well run out before their pets' does.
This is not a situation I am ever in, for obvious reasons.
So I don't cry over dead mortals, because seriously, over billions of years that would be a whole lot of crying, and that would positively *ruin* my boyish complexion. Some have accused me of being utterly callous toward the death of other Q, however, because I don't seem to spend a whole lot of time mourning dead friends, either.
( Feel sorry for what you've lost all you want, but don't pretend it's nobler than that. )