Monday, December 12, 2005
I am an american aquarium drinker
I assassin down the avenue
I’m running out in the big city blinking
What was I thinking when I let go of you?
Let’s forget about the tongue-tied lightning
Let’s undress just like cross-eyed strangers
This is not a joke so please stop smiling
What was I thinking when I said it didn’t hurt?
I want to glide through those brown eyes dreaming
Take from the inside, lady gold on tight
You so right when you said I been drinking
What was I thinking when we said goodnight?
-Wilco - I Am Trying to Break Your Heart
Wilco is pretty much the new (musical) love of my life. Wilco, and Johnny Cash. Oh...Mr. Cash, if only you were alive today. I'm also ridiculous smitten with Reese Witherspoon in Walk the Line (which was, not incidentally, a really great film). Could that girl be any more beautiful? I think not. She was definitely meant to be a brunette, Legally Blonde be damned.
You've got to hold onto love where you find it, right? At least that's what I keep telling myself, despite my apparently awesome ability to let it go.
I've been a bit of an internet recluse lately, which is why I haven't written a damned thing in here. I've been feeling pretty lonely, and the internet just makes me feel more alone. I can't understand it but somehow meeting people online just got really fucking depressing. The whole thing just makes me want to curl up on the couch with a book and forget that I belong to the world for a while, which is basically what I've been doing lately.
I also do a lot of waking up, going to work, coming home, going to sleep, waking up, going to work, coming home, going to sleep, rinse and repeat until existentialist nightmare is complete (that rhyme was unintentional, but still fucking rad). Fuck. I can't write anything, I hardly see what is left of my friends, and I have almost forgotten what it was like to have exciting and comforting things like a sex life and someone who really cares about me. My cheering section these days is composed largely of people related to me by blood. That's just fine and dandy, but it's not the same as having actual support from my peers, as it were.
I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia tonight, and I was actually really impressed by it. I had ridiculously high expectations, seeing as the Chronicles of Narnia informed most of my childhood and youth from about age 10 onwards. I read the books, watched the BBC miniseries, and spent seven years attending at working at the (illustrious) Camp Narnia. Basically Narnia -- and the Narnia I grew up with was utterly devoid of any of the allegorical crap they're waxing on about these days -- symbolized every virtuous quality I wanted to possess while growing up, and the rosy ideals of loyalty, integrity, honesty, courage, and friendship have pretty much stuck with me to this day. No matter what goes on in my life, I always feel it's important to be true and kind to people, and to have a sense of adventure.
The result of all this nostalgia was that the movie made me cry, a lot, and not just in the sad parts. Jack went to see it with me and he probably thought I was insane. I cried when Mrs. Pevensie said goodbye to her children on the train platform, I cried when no one believed Lucy's stories about Narnia, I cried when Aslan came on screen, I cried when Peter got his sword and Susan her bow and arrows, and I sure as hell cried when Aslan sacrificed himself on the Stone Table. I also wished the whole thing hadn't been produced by that damned Walden Media with their nefarious Christian "family entertainment," aka conservative brainwashing. The Narnia I knew was like any other magical land in children's literature -- a place where all children were accepted, regardless of whether or not they believed that Aslan the Lion was a fuzzy, roaring stand-in for Christ.
Blech. Have I mentioned that I loathe allegories? I could rant for hours. Here I go being a mass of contradictions again. I love one of the greatest allegories of all time, and yet I hate the whole idea of it.
I started going to the gyme again. It was pretty depressing. I am seriously out of shape, and could probably stand to lose about 25 pounds. What's even more depressing is thinking about what wicked shape I was in at this time last year. Damn that's sad. At least I have youth on my side, and I don't smoke or drink a lot of scotch.
On that note, I must get to bed.
There is more to say, as always.
But I shall save it for later.