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Mid Years (Free verse) by Dovina

After the travails of menopause and before the fogginess of senile dementia comes a lingering sourness of melancholy that mixes with sweet hours of friendship to produce the finest moments of life For men, maybe it comes after the keen edge of erectile imperative and before virility's illusion turns into a joke Then it's about relationship as we said it was all along but never believed

-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. 16-May-05/5:36 AM
No, I haven't seen that old man. BECAUSE YOU'VE JUST MADE HIM UP.

One's emotional state is clearly a significant part of one's overall health. Nobody has denied that. But if women are so in touch with their emotions, why are all women emotional trainwrecks? Why don't you have any idea how to control them?

You've all become so obsessed with the word "emotions" that you worship it as a god. You allow your life to be totally controlled by the slightest feeling, because "it's important to recognise your emotions." You devote huge amounts of time to sentimental nonsense like making scrapbooks and quilts, attempting to nail down an emotion so you can have it over and over again, as if it were a kind of rare mystical experience.

You think of crying as a beautiful religious ceremony, because when you cry, you're in complete submission to an emotion. Complete submission isn't beautiful. It's disgusting. It's spineless. It shows you have no control over your self, and what's worse, that you're glad to have no control. You relish the opportunity to be washed away in a sea of feelings, because it means you don't have to think, you don't have to try, you just have to weep like the jellied-eel you are. And you encourage each other to do this, because it feels better to be weak when everyone around you is also weak.

Your relation to emotions is exactly the same as the relation of a hypochondriac to diseases. There is an enormous difference between recognising the role of emotions, and devoting your existence to floundering among them. You, my dear, have chosen the latter.




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