
Watching Philadelphia Story. Tracy (Katherine Hepburn) doesn’t want to be worshipped, she wants to be loved. Deeply loved. I’d be super happy with being worshipped. Adored. Envied. What is love but having to say you are sorry all the time. I believe in friendship, colleagues, compatriots, partners, holding hands, and saving seats. I believe in playing with the dog. I love letters and movies and parades and people watching. I love being miserable and I love being happy. I love getting older except that I hate getting old. Love is too unreliable. Put me on a pedestal any day.
What about you?
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Oh Jesus. Anyone who worshiped me would have to be either misguided or so deeply ridiculous that I couldn’t take them seriously. Or just a straight-up con man trying to get my millions.
Not a pedestal kind of gal. I like to get my hands dirty.
I worship you.
Ok, I’ll worship you.
What is love? Baby don’t hurt me, Baby don’t hurt me. No more. Always factor in the stupid.
love love me do love actually where is love
I vote for love. I don’t need to be worshipped. Mostly, I’d like to be appreciated for whatever I goodies I bring to the table. No pedestal, please.
“What about you?”
I’ve always been a late bloomer. I was pushing twenty years of age when I realized that what I wanted in life — what I truly wanted, my life’s goal — was to be God. Immediately upon realizing this, I realized the position was already filled, and anyway, I was unqualified for the job and would have to find something else to do.
One night in my early thirties, I heard the Stone Roses’ song, “I Wanna Be Adored,” and I thought, Yes, yes, that’s true, that’s truly what I want.
At some point in my early forties, I realized that the reason I made the paintings and mixed media works I had at that point spent ten years crafting, was that I wanted to be loved. It wasn’t to “advance the arts” or touch upon something ineffable and eternal and true (well, maybe it was that, a little, as almost an accidental side effect). This realization took the wind out of my sails. I put down my paintbrush and my glue bottle and my coping saw and never picked them up again. Yes, I know I could have reached that end state much more quickly had I had therapy, but I’ve always been stubborn that way.
Nowadays, mostly what I want is to die without suffering too much or causing others to suffer too much. Meanwhile, I still fiddle around with my photography and my writing. Yes, I still want to be God, I still want to be adored, and I still want to be loved. No, I’m not handing you a line or coming on to you. I should get back to work.
Worship is in the eyes of the beholder. If it’s about someone going over the top to shower me with attention – and by attention, I’m thinking of a couple I saw a year or so ago, and the guy could NOT stop touching the girl. It was hands on her person somewhere, all the time. Moving, stroking, petting, little kisses here and there. Gah. Sorry, but that would get on my nerves. That’s a hard no. If it’s about treating me as if I matter, having common consideration, care and empathy when needed, etc., yep I’m in.
Now, on the OTHER hand, if it’s about work? WORSHIP AWAY. 😉
As I accumulate years, 71 1/2 now, I appreciate the gift of being alive more every day. So many my age and alot younger gone. My first husband was 23. I am more than 3 times his age now. I feel blessed.
Love is a rose, better not pick it, handful of thorns, etc. Still, I’ll go with love, especially a love that endures, a love supreme. When someone is elevated to worship status, they’re set up to fail because what isn’t perfect will not be tolerated and then the walls come tumbling down. Love might have me bruised and battered, but still standing.
I don’t need or want a pedestal. Give me a comfortable couch, a warm fire and a good review. When the end comes, and it will eventually, I’d like my flight to be an easy one. Adoration requires too much tending.