Lamar Hunt, I believe it was (and if it wasn't, well, dammit, it should have been), used to say that the textbook definition of "mixed emotions" was watching a bus full of lawyers plunge off a cliff and suddenly seeing two rows of empty seats. Not having observed this particular phenomenon for myself, I really am in no position to confirm or deny. On the other hand, if you're not looking for textbook definitions, you've come to the right Vent.
This week, the cheers went up in my usual chat haunt as Cupid shoots and scores yet another happy couple announcing their engagement. Assuming everything goes according to plan, this will make three weddings out of this community in less than a year. (No, I haven't been counting the divorces.) And there's no reason to believe that it will stop at three, for True Love has a momentum all its own. I know this; I see it picking up speed as it veers away from me.
But that's not the point either. I certainly don't begrudge them their happiness; I want these things to work out. These are my friends, and they deserve whatever joy comes to them, and I would really hate for them to become mere statistics. And if the odds on cyberspace relationships have historically been somewhat less than wonderful, well, I'd like to think that we excuse me, they can make it work. I wish them the greatest of good fortune, and in the grand scheme of things, that's probably enough.
Now all I have to do is silence that little voice snarling "Like hell it is."
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