I had such a weird weekend. The weather was beautiful, perfect cool autumn sunshine. Blue skies and fiery leaves and just enough sun to never feel too cold. I walked everywhere. I got so much done, as I'd hoped to. But for the love of God or money I couldn't turn off my brain and the crazy thoughts that burned through it non-stop.
It all began Saturday night when I made the (somewhat controversial) choice to stay home, cook dinner and watch Eat, Pray, Love. I acknowledge that this movie has nothing spectacular going for it, other than excellent cinematography and in-depth exploration of all the delicious food on offer in Italy. It's a story (true, apparently) about a woman's round-the-world journey to reignite her own spark and enjoy life again after going through a terrible divorce. For those of us who cannot afford to suddenly drop everything and take off on a global quest of self-discovery, it's a nice dream.
But...
I think it caught me at such a crazy time that I ended up watching the entire thing, and having legitimate emotional reactions to some of the things characters were saying. (Except James Franco. God I cannot put into words how much I loathe James Franco. He is the worst. The. Worst.)
My favorite exchange was between Julia Roberts and Javier Bardem (who is sometimes very regal, and other times bears a striking resemblance to an Easter Island statue).
"I'm sick of people telling me that I need a man."
To which Javier Bardem (hoping to secure a spot as said lover) replies calmly,
"You don't need a man, Liz. You need a champion."
You need a champion. What a wonderful idea. Not merely a lover, or a friend, or a companion.
A champion. I suspect if more women held out for champions...there would be a great deal more single women! (But lucky for Javier, this line totally worked.)
Even after the credits rolled, parts of the film stayed with me, because I spent the next day cleaning out my apartment, and sorting through ghosts of my own.When you watch a film about examining your life, then spend the next day doing just that (as well as dusting, killing huge scary bugs, and unclogging the tub) one cannot help but hark back to the other.
I keep correspondence. Most of it anyways. Re-reading cards and letters was good. Some I kept, while others I could let go. I found photographs. Articles I'd cut out of magazines. Things that meant so much and nothing. I found P's Christmas card. Tore it up. Threw it away. Found the letters I had written but never mailed to him post-breakup. I read through my stages of grief. You could actually map out each stage, letter-to-letter. At first I crumpled them up to throw them out as well, but I changed my mind. Because as the letters went on, I got stronger. I called him out (in writing anyways) on a lot of things I wish I'd said to his face. But I am glad the letters exist. I put them in a manila envelope, wrote P's full name on the front, and tucked them back onto the shelf. Maybe I'll be ready to throw them out when I clean it again. Maybe I'll use them to get through the next breakup. Maybe someone will give them to P in the event I get hit by a cab (not what I'm hoping, but with NYC cabs, you can never really be sure.) When Julia says goodbye to her ex in this stupid dream-sequence (NOTHING IN REAL LIFE CAN BE SOLVED IN A DREAM SEQUENCE) she tells him "So, miss me. Send me love and light every time you think of me... Then drop it. It won't last forever. Nothing does." I do still miss him. Don't know about the love & light. But then I drop it. Because I have to. There is no other choice.
Looking through photographs, I thought back again to the movie, this time where Julia Roberts is tapping into her spiritual, meditation-loving side in India. Her young Indian friend has just been married off and Julia is telling her that she dedicated her daily prayers to the girl's happiness. (I like that too. Whatever. It's nice.) Julia tells the girl that she pictured her happy, to which she says:
"What did I look like when I was happy?"
Takes the wind out of your sails. I think about the photos I have just gone through. I'm a kid. My cheeks are so chubby. Everything is so chubby! HA. I've got adorable short hair. College photos. Still trying to figure out my eyebrows, but my eyes look greener like Mom's every day. And since? Thinner face. Nailed the eyebrows. Know my angles. Some of the smiles are real and others aren't. I think I look harder. Older for sure. Happy? I don't know. Photo to photo, I suppose. Two photos on my bulletin board where I know I was happy, and in them I'm confident that I'm beautiful. I haven't taken pics like that in ages. Talking with my mom this weekend, she said "you sound great" and it caught me by surprise. I said "Ups and downs" which is the honest answer. Now she was the one caught off guard. But sounding upbeat one day doesn't mean that everything else cancels out. With my mind running fast and furious this weekend (it took hours to get to sleep every night because I couldn't turn off) I had all these crazy thoughts and some nightmares. In one, I likened my current situation to being in a harness raised just slightly off the ground, so that my feet didn't touch. I sprint, because in my mind I sprint like Usain Bolt, but obviously I don't go anywhere, I just sort of swing back and forth a bit from the exertion. Does that make any sense? It's like I am hustling the fuck out of this, but I am in a harness just about the ground. I don't move forward in anything. Dad never gets better or worse, my plays are good but not good enough, and whatever it is that I need to get my life back into place is seemingly out of my reach, but always in the eye line.
Lessons? Fewer Julia Roberts movies. More sleep aids. Clean only when necessary.
