Some evenings, when it’s late and I’m by myself and the house is dark and all I can hear is the relentless tick-tock of the living room clock, it takes everything I’ve got to keep my emotional shit together. Tonight, well, is one of those evenings. So I’m going to write you a post and see if that helps. After which I might watch a movie.
Speaking of… the other night we saw The Deathly Hallows and while it was good, of course, even excellent, of course, it left me feeling *ahem* deathly hollow (sorry). Having read the book, I believe that I’ll probably end up feeling the same after part 2 as well, which bums me a little. There were myriad nice moments. I liked Harry and Hermione’s dance, and during all of his scenes I was deeply in crush with Luna Lovegood’s father (I looked up the actor later on Imdb and wondered why in the world I had been, as he seems so vacuous in his photos, but that only goes to show that a person’s spirit generally comes through his or her actions, not via still shots). As excited as I’d been to see the movie, I didn’t feel sad in any of the requisite places, or in any place at all, except as a dull overarching emotion throughout. It was very strange. The cinematography was stunning, the acting superb, the right moments in the story were highlighted, it was all ice and snow and winter(!), and there was no mention of Hermione’s passion regarding Elf Rights (seriously annoying in the book). It’s… just… a dark story that’s only going to get darker, and since I was extremely dissatisfied with the very-tippy end of the book, well, more gah. Still, there’s no denying it’s a classic and has every right to be, and it was a pleasure to see it at Cinetopia, the best movie theater in the entire universal world. We were early enough to get the best spot, the picture was crystal clear, and even the ground beneath our seats rumbled when the action was at its fiercest. It’s a little more expensive than your run-of-the-mill theater, but I think I’d like to go back and see The Voyage of the Dawn Treader there. That’s my very all-time favorite book of the Narnia series and I’m anticipating a great movie experience, after seeing the preview.
Anyway, the most impacting part of Hallows came before it even started, when I got up to use the bathroom one last time before having to sit still for two and a half hours. There were two identical exits, one to the left of the theater and one to the right. I chose the one to the right, and as I turned to walk down what I thought was going to be the hall to the main lobby, I ran face first into a black felt-carpeted WALL. Smashed my forehead so hard I ended up with a headache, and I’m shocked I didn’t get a bloody nose. Sure that everyone in the theater had heard the impact and seen me stagger backward, I quickly spun on my heel and scurried down the other side of the hall toward the Exit door, only to find it opened out onto the rear parking lot. Good grief. The only way to the bathroom was to go back across the entire audience-choked width of the theater to the lefthand exit, or the right exit, as normal people like to call it (dear God why is life so confusing?), which I did with as much fleet-footed dignity as I could muster. When I got back I told my seat buddies what had happened and they all laughed sympathetically, but assured me they had missed the show. Whew then, maybe I scooted under everybody’s radar, though it isn’t likely because the theater was packed. This kind of thing is the story of my life, honestly. I am fundamentally flawed when it comes to practical observation skills. I am spatially challenged. It’s a wonder I’ve lived this long, and haven’t lost any vital parts. I really shouldn’t ever go anywhere without an escort, and you may think I’m joking but I’m NOT.
Which reminds me that the other day, at Kary’s house, instead of going straight down the hallway to the bathroom like your average observant person would do, I turned left and walked through a completely black doorway, reached out to fumble for the light switch on the wall, and was calling out to Kary to tell me where it was when I proceeded to fall down several of the stairs leading to their basement. Thankfully they were wide and carpeted and there was a handy rail nearby or I might have broken my neck, right there in the funeral home. (Kary’s husband Rob is a funeral director, which probably means they planned the whole thing. <.< Note to self: Watch Back in Estacada.) It occurs to me now that both of these stories involve searching for the bathroom. It might just be safer to wear Depends when I go out, or travel with a Stadium Pal. I swear, if the world were flat and my bladder even a nidge smaller, I would’ve walked straight off the edge ages ago. Some might say I already have.
Love you guys! Writing to you did help. Now keep yourselves safe and play well with others. xo