insomnia. bleh. but it turned to a good end. i finally watched a movie given as a gift, one i have been meaning to watch for some time as i enjoy jim carey’s overblown caricatures almost as much as i enjoy his more serious roles.
this one, an adaptation of a young adult’s book by an author i’ve never read, with the curious name of ‘Lemony Snitcket’, the title of the book ‘An Series of Unfortunate Events’.
i haven’t read the book yet, but i may well pick it up just to see the differences between the movie adaptation and the original.
carey was as usual. the child actor’s were rather amazing. but, the thing that really stood out to me was a line near the end… i suppose my over-active empathy is to blame:
“… and what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events may in fact, be the first steps of a journey.”
the context of its delivery set me to tears. not as much for the movie, but the evocative nature of the moment; how it felt, and how i identified with it.
i find i enjoy young adult literature more than any, because most times, it looks to provide comfort and hope in a way that avoids the jaded, cynical perspective so common in ‘adult’ literature.
i find i like it as well for the ways it emphasizes the many ways in which our culture and society so often wrongly minimize the presence and value of children.
oh, i lean towards a sermon. trying to avoid. not sure i’ll succeed.
one of the things i most cherish of myself is that i have somehow managed to retain my sense of innocence. i suppose that reads like pride. it isn’t. i am so deeply thankful that sunrises still make me smile. that nature and its creatures still fill me with curious and admiring wonder. that watching people at a distance as they are kind to one another, or demonstrate care, affection, or love still makes me cry for happiness of it.
yes, i am that sappy, silly woman who cries to see the old couple toddling along slowly, holding hands and smiling to one another.
and i am that one who always cries when i watch television and see the horrors that happen in our world every day, every hour of every day, minute by minute like a terrible flipbook animation until i can hardly stand to look anymore. (i do not watch television these days. and rarely read the papers or listen to radio.)
it is hard to describe, but i am often afraid that i feel too much, too deeply. it’s like having this incredibly sensitive allergy to everything. a moment’s exposure to the pain of another brings the most terrible pain. but a moment’s exposure to joy brings joy.
i suppose that’s how i manage not to just curl up and cry forever for the pain, that there is also joy.
i cried at the end of this movie, of course. but i also smiled because there was hope.
most days i stay home lately. between looking for work and losing several friends and struggling with my own sensitivity to the world at large, the motivation to actually get out of the house is rare and usually fleeting. when i do go out, i slam the mirror shield in place and huddle… hah… i typed hiddle…. combination of hide and huddle, i suppose…. anyway… i hide myself away and don’t dare let anyone get too close.
huh. don’t dare let anyone get too close. indeed. i have recently been emailing a friend who is local to me. he and i have been friends almost 15 years now. contact has been somewhat intermittent since 1999, mostly due to my own withdrawal.
we were talking about getting together and going to the bookstores like we used to… or maybe just antiquing. and i told him how hard it is for me to leave the house these days and he wrote me and said (hang on, going to get it):
Anyrate, what you seem to be saying is that you feel safest in noninteraction these days. That’s a little disconcerting coming from you. Usually, with people who’ve said things like that to me in the past, it’s because they’ve been snubbed or hurt so many times by those that they’ve thought they could relate to and associate with that they’ve all but given up.
i replied simply, ‘yes’.
i talk a lot about the things i want to do, here, on this blog. and i make big long entries about all the progress i’m going to make, and how i’m ready finally to get back to it.
but the truth is, i’m shattered and scattered and scared shitless and alone and lost and am so damned exhausted and disillusioned with it all that i just sit here and mumble to myself and hope i can fool myself long enough for me to find the belief and strength i’m still not willing to accept has gone from me.
i guess i’m not totally lost yet, if i can still find the way to believe it is going to get better, right?