27 December 2002
The next office over has a couple of Authentic Beauties. I, of course, strive to avoid them, simply as a matter of maintaining equilibrium; I'll toss out an occasional flip remark, but it never goes beyond that.
Yesterday, one of them (the younger) was sporting an engagement ring. "It's about time," I said. Certainly she thought so; they'd been dating seemingly forever.
And for some reason, this stung me, and I can't come up with any justification for it. I'd never even considered her as a potential companion she's gorgeous, and she's fairly bright, but she's half my age (more or less literally) and we wouldn't have a whole lot to talk about so it shouldn't matter if she goes into the Permanently Unavailable file. Yet somehow I mourn, even as I wish her great heaping gobs of happiness, and I mutter deep, dark curses against the person who causes me all this heartbreak.
Which is, of course, myself.
(10:20 am: Modified slightly to increase vagueness.)