What makes you jealous, and how do you deal with it?
Frankly, jealousy is a childish, selfish emotion and unworthy of a member of the Corps. Yes, I do remember feeling it as a child. I remember measles as well, and neither experience has relevance on my present life.
It is something that always puzzled me when encountering it in the minds of others. Take Garibaldi. If it's not Lise Hampton and her various husbands, it's Sinclair and Catherine Saka, or Sinclair and the Minbari, or Sinclair and the Vorlonsi; considering the sheer amount of obsession and the time, you'd think he never gets any work done, yet, mystifyingly, somehow he does. He's quite effectice as an investigator, as a matter of fact, which validates his existence.
There was, perhaps, one time in my adult life in which you could say I longed for something that wasn't mine but which I believed ought to be. It wasn't anything as petty as it had been during my early childhood, however, and certainly not connected to some antiquated mundane sense of possessiveness. I wanted answers, I wanted the truth about... certain things..., which was my main motivation for volunteering for one necroscan after the other. As a method of dealing with a feeling I hesitate to call jealousy, this turned out to be both fruitless and inefficient. Joining a dying mind brings us to a liminality, and what waits beyond is in the end nothing new, it is what we bring with us. The last person I performed a necroscan on seemed to be believe it was death I was jealous of, death that I longed for. He was mistaken, of course.
It is something that always puzzled me when encountering it in the minds of others. Take Garibaldi. If it's not Lise Hampton and her various husbands, it's Sinclair and Catherine Saka, or Sinclair and the Minbari, or Sinclair and the Vorlonsi; considering the sheer amount of obsession and the time, you'd think he never gets any work done, yet, mystifyingly, somehow he does. He's quite effectice as an investigator, as a matter of fact, which validates his existence.
There was, perhaps, one time in my adult life in which you could say I longed for something that wasn't mine but which I believed ought to be. It wasn't anything as petty as it had been during my early childhood, however, and certainly not connected to some antiquated mundane sense of possessiveness. I wanted answers, I wanted the truth about... certain things..., which was my main motivation for volunteering for one necroscan after the other. As a method of dealing with a feeling I hesitate to call jealousy, this turned out to be both fruitless and inefficient. Joining a dying mind brings us to a liminality, and what waits beyond is in the end nothing new, it is what we bring with us. The last person I performed a necroscan on seemed to be believe it was death I was jealous of, death that I longed for. He was mistaken, of course.