New Years Day always feels like a do-over for me. It feels clean and fresh like I just brushed my teeth or cleaned my house, which incidentally I plan to do today. The former occurs no less than twice a day (not true), but the latter, sadly, doesn’t happen as often as it should.
. . .. .
I feel a nagging urge to write this morning. It’s not that I’m avoiding cleaning my house, it’s that I’m accomplishing a necessary task beforehand. A warm up, if you will. Yeah, call it what you wish, procrastination is not the intention.
“We are men of action. Lies do not become us.”
Sometimes movie characters say just the right things at just the right times in my head. Damn you, Pirate Roberts.
I’m not one to quote The Princess Bride or The Meaning of Life (out loud). I’ve known people who are, and they annoy me. If you, Reader, are a member of that group, don’t be offended by my hypocritical remark. I quote Disney Pixar movies, or Mean Girls or Legally Blonde. I have daughters, and that’s my excuse, though I’ve no reason for excuses because the lines are funny as hell in the right context. 300 is chock full of witty comments. I like movies that have main characters who are underestimated underdogs, and 300 not only falls into that category but it’s also fine eye candy, so I forgive the cheesy Spartan one-liners and I use them in my head as silent comic relief when I feel attacked or overwhelmed. Which is often.
I spent New Years Eve watching movies on Netflix from the comfort of my bed in the shield of darkness. I’ve avoided Jane Eyre, but I’m not sure why because I love movies that are set in 1800s England. I finally watched it last night, and it was scary. I didn’t expect to be frightened. I had an odd, uneasy feeling about watching the film or reading the book, and after watching it, my unease was validated. My reaction was an emotion I can’t explain, one I hadn’t unearthed. I think perhaps what I felt was a mixture of feelings, a potion of strong emotions that I’d never ingested. I went to sleep without analyzing my emotional response, and this morning I am haunted by the confusing impact that the story had on me.
I have written myself into a serious place, and I’ll trade that for cleaning my house. I suppose my need to write this morning has been a subconscious means of motivation.
I need to keep today light. Tomorrow I return to work, and an unwelcome heaviness accompanies me.
. .. .. . .
Down, down, down, she goes, and harder she resists the fall.