tammytoes

Some of my favorite girls.

Within the first 10 minutes, I see Russell Crowe’s band (quite possibly even worse than Dogstar, formerly the worst piece-of-shit celebrity vanity music project) and he and Kris Kristofferson are performing a duet version of “Me and Bobby McGee” that sucks so bad it’s just a shameless waste of existence for everyone involved and when I turn the channel, Kermit the Frog is selling a hybrid SUV. Fuck all. I just wanted to watch the Olympics.

I’m in a relentlessly ambivalent state tonight. Today, everyone in my life seemed painfully aware of the fact that my marriage is ending, and every one of their reactions to everything I did today was weighed down by that knowledge. And I don’t know how to react to their reactions and they, in turn, don’t know how to react to my reactions to their reactions, and it all seems like a very unfunny sitcom episode, except that it’s kind of funny. It’s wierd when you feel like you’re actually living in the midst of a bittersweet amusing anecdote. I keep waiting for the anecdote to be over, and for the regular conversation to resume. And so there’s nothing to do but keep telling the damn anecdote, even though I don’t know really what it is or where it’s going, but I guess that’s okay because I’m relentlessly convinced that it’s going to end well. In many ways, I guess it already has.

You know what would make me feel better? Throwing a phone at Russell Crowe’s puffy head. Not that he has anything to do with it, but it would still make me feel awesome.

Anyway, I guess I could rant some more about TV shit, or write some psychobabble, but now that I’m online talking to you I guess what I’d really like to say is thank you for all the love. Because I’ve gotten a lot of it lately from a lot of you. And it means the world. And all that wierdness noted above is just because you care about me, and want me to know it. So thanks.

So here’s a valentine to you, gentle reader. I wish you much love.

It occurs to me that there are movies to write about.

It would be strange for me to write about all of the life events that have taken place since I last wrote. But then again, it would be strange for me not to write about them. Blogging is a very bizarre ritual. This act of making public private thoughts, selectively. Some people probably would have written their way through the past few months and broadcast for the world. I chose not to, finding solace with friends and my comfy red couch and all 7 seasons of ‘Buffy the Vampire’ I managed to watch in a little over 4 weeks, finding real and profound truth in a silly television show about the Big Bad. It’s been rough, friendly readers, very rough. And that’s all I really feel like sharing about that.

But there are movies to write about, and little observations to make. And lots of small things that add up to big differences, and make life worth living more than anything else.

This reminds me of the last two paragraphs of Jeannette Winterson’s Gut Symmetries:

“The universe hangs here, in this narrow strait, infinity and compression caught in the hour. Space and time cannot be separated. History and futurity are now. What you remember. What you invent. The universe curving in your gut. Put out your hand. Kiss me. The city is a scintilla, light to light, quartz and neon of the Brooklyn Bridge and the incandescence of the stars.
The were letting off fireworks down at the waterfront, the sky exploding in grenades of colour. Whatever it is that pulls the pin, that hurls you past the boundaries of your own life into a brief and total beauty, even for a moment, it is enough.”

I have learned something so valuable from zombie movies and it is so simple. But also true. The only way out is through. So here I am, getting through it.