A few weeks ago, there was a period where I was so screamingly depressed that all I could do was lie in bed and watch Jodie Foster movies. Whether her husband dumps her and thugs break into her house, or someone steals her kid, or punks kill her boyfriend and take off with her dog — she makes grieving look good. And I guess Ive always thought so, because one of my favorites since childhood is THE LITTLE GIRL WHO LIVES DOWN THE LANE. And these days, I feel a bit more like the little girl who lives down that lane than, say, a gun-toting NPR personality. My days are mostly spent at home, with periodic breaks to shuffle around bleak winter landscapes with my hands stuffed in my pockets. I drink a lot of wine. I eat pork chops with my hands. Pretty soon Ill be sleeping with crippled magicians. But one thing Ive got on Jodie in almost every regard is, I dont know what it feels like to grieve alone. There hasnt been a moment where Ive had to bite my lip and bury my feelings because I was the only person I could count on. The support Ive gotten has been crazy, not just from current friends, but new ones, and also people who I havent talked to in years. And likewise, I cant complain that anyone who I thought I could love and trust, you know, threw me under a train or whatever. I hate to call this a silver lining, because it sounds like Im saying, Every day is my birthday! And that aint true. If my birthdays had ever felt like this, Id have cut whoever planned the party. But, what Im saying is, even if mourning in abundance of open ears and sound advice isnt as cooly cinematic as only having a bottle of wine and the cold, cruel night as friends, I like my movie better than any of those Jodie Foster ones.
Posted on: Wed, 27 Nov 2013 02:29:43 +0000
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