the history books forgot about us [didn't mention us, not even once]

i have mentioned that i hate romantic comedies.

i hate that they put the characters through the wringer and then refuse to explore the psychological implications of anything that just happened
i hate that they assume a flowery monologue and a backdrop of earnest pop song and dizzying cinematography will cure all ills
i hate they they create a person to act as romantic foil, then crumple her/him up and toss her/him aside and don't even have the decency to pretend that they aren't brutally sacrificing her/him to the alter of Twu Lwuv.
i hate they they teach society that it's morally acceptable - even perfectly reasonable - to wrap yourself around someone who loves you just so you aren't stuck in a room with yourself, realizing what a complete shitbag you are, will you wait for the one you really want to have an epiphany wherein it becomes clear that s/he is really choosing between a life of looking at oneself in the mirror, of listening for life and hearing only oneself, and letting another person's babbling baggage distract her/himself from her/his own self-loathing.

and yes, that really is what i see when confronted with hollywood's answer to the need for human connection; a society reared to manipulate other people into giving them value.

i think that's partly why i believe in God.

which, yes, is a strange segue, but the thoughts follow each other fluidly; my goal is Jesus, and the path i walk to Him is Buddhism (the philosophical kind, not the religious belly-rubbing one). regardless of whether or not there is a god, or anything after this life at all, in Jesus, i have a sort of guarantee that someone gives a shit. that i do matter, even if it's only to Him, even if i don't do anything to make history remember me at all, there's the idea that someone out there sees me and feels for me and aches when i cry.

so even if there is nothing out there, i can take comfort in imagining this individual watching my life and throwing Vengeful Popcorn Of Smite at the screen when things don't go my way, even if if takes a while for the instrument of my defense to snowball into the properly devastating effect that i would desire.

and if all i really have after i die is a wood box lined with linen, at least i will be well-versed in pretending that i am significant to someone.