Waiting for blah
OOC: Reposted from theatrical_muse from 2/7/2007, last of 50 posts.
What are you waiting for?
The inevitable, I suppose.
Every time I enjoy myself, every time I have something interesting to do, there's a tiny nagging voice at the back of my mind, the voice of five billion years' experience, telling me "this too shall pass." Sooner or later I'm going to get bored. Or, if it's something tangible that entertains me, something of the matter universe, like a mortal being or an entire planet... well, eventually it'll die. Those are the only two outcomes. No happiness lasts forever.
I have, some have said, an appalling lack of foresight for an omnipotent, immortal being. I suppose it's true. I try very hard to live in the moment, to face the future with my hands over my eyes yelling "LA LA LA I CAN'T SEE YOU", and it has not always served me well. I admit I have occasionally been blindsided by something I should have seen coming. But the thing about being immortal and damn near impossible to destroy is that the rare occasions when something could actually threaten me if I don't see it coming are far, far outnumbered by the times I'd have been bored to mindlessness if I had been able to predict my life ahead of time. I have to try to take every moment as it comes, to enjoy what I have right now and not think about what's coming, because it's always the same.
All good things come to an end.
I had my son in order to create something that would last. To have something I could enjoy without fearing the inevitable end. And I love him, I do. But, y'know, there were times in my existence that I loved many another Q, and... we all know how that story ended. Each time. In a billion years, when the novelty of his childishness and my responsibility for raising him are gone, when he's just another Q like the rest of us, will I care about him any more than I do the others? I look to mortal species with their own children for guidance, and the results are frankly not encouraging.
Maybe it would be different if I didn't have such a tremendous need for novelty in my existence. If I wasn't so easily bored, so driven to seek out what's new and different (because after five billion years of doing it? There ain't much left, I can tell you that.) But the Q who killed himself was a philosopher, a calm, respectable sort of fellow, not a novelty-obsessed hedonist like me... and he killed himself out of boredom. So... I'm guessing it's not just me.
So what am I waiting for?
For everything I love and everything I touch to turn to dust and emptiness, of course. Isn't everyone?
What are you waiting for?
The inevitable, I suppose.
Every time I enjoy myself, every time I have something interesting to do, there's a tiny nagging voice at the back of my mind, the voice of five billion years' experience, telling me "this too shall pass." Sooner or later I'm going to get bored. Or, if it's something tangible that entertains me, something of the matter universe, like a mortal being or an entire planet... well, eventually it'll die. Those are the only two outcomes. No happiness lasts forever.
I have, some have said, an appalling lack of foresight for an omnipotent, immortal being. I suppose it's true. I try very hard to live in the moment, to face the future with my hands over my eyes yelling "LA LA LA I CAN'T SEE YOU", and it has not always served me well. I admit I have occasionally been blindsided by something I should have seen coming. But the thing about being immortal and damn near impossible to destroy is that the rare occasions when something could actually threaten me if I don't see it coming are far, far outnumbered by the times I'd have been bored to mindlessness if I had been able to predict my life ahead of time. I have to try to take every moment as it comes, to enjoy what I have right now and not think about what's coming, because it's always the same.
All good things come to an end.
I had my son in order to create something that would last. To have something I could enjoy without fearing the inevitable end. And I love him, I do. But, y'know, there were times in my existence that I loved many another Q, and... we all know how that story ended. Each time. In a billion years, when the novelty of his childishness and my responsibility for raising him are gone, when he's just another Q like the rest of us, will I care about him any more than I do the others? I look to mortal species with their own children for guidance, and the results are frankly not encouraging.
Maybe it would be different if I didn't have such a tremendous need for novelty in my existence. If I wasn't so easily bored, so driven to seek out what's new and different (because after five billion years of doing it? There ain't much left, I can tell you that.) But the Q who killed himself was a philosopher, a calm, respectable sort of fellow, not a novelty-obsessed hedonist like me... and he killed himself out of boredom. So... I'm guessing it's not just me.
So what am I waiting for?
For everything I love and everything I touch to turn to dust and emptiness, of course. Isn't everyone?