It just occurred to me that people who have the super-toned, super-skinny, with work done on their faces, fake boobs, etc., are not unlike the meth addict with teeth falling out, ravaged skin, or any other addict: heroïn, booze, food, cocaïne, etc.
Putting oneself through a great deal of pain, investing a huge amount of time and money in order to do it, in order to try to fill an unfillable emptiness in one's soul, to quell, if even for a moment, that screaming pain, that shitty committée telling you that you're no good, or at least not good enough.
Good enough for what?
Just like if I knew that somebody was strung out on methamphetamines, and was faced with the choice of getting into a relationship with them, I'd worry that there would come a time when the addiction would be more important than me, than the relationship. Their willingness to serve that addiction, to worship at the church of that addiction, whether it be at the crack house, the meth house, the plastic surgeon's office, the gym, the junk-food restaurant, the bar, means that they don't see it as a problem, they are not (yet) willing to work on it.
The Higher Power is the one that you give that over to. HP is a mail slot you drop it into. Here you go. I don't want this any more. There's a self-address envelope in there, so send me back whatever you got—it doesn't really matter what it is.
That is really all the Higher Power does. Anything else is gravy. HP is the one you tell, "I've had enough. I don't want this anymore. I don't know who else to give it to, so can you take it?"
I worry that such a person will be too expensive and high-maintenance for me to deal with. Dealers, doctors, police, enraged neighbors, crazed family members, barkeeps, taxi drivers, pounding at the door at all hours or to otherwise have uncomfortable meetings with, strange last-minute bills to pay, people to pay off, bizarre last-minute favors and errands, a constant, seething sense of urgency interspersed with endless waiting, waiting for the next indescribably vital and essential thing, or simply because there is nothing else to do.
No, I see somebody with a body not the product of nature, it gives me pause. As with most incredibly expensive, high-maintenance, dangerous things, I look (of course), I keep my distance for the most part, I marvel somewhere along the lines of "Wow, so they have those now," I try to stay out of the blast zone, and I wonder how much the insurance premiums must run.