Professing * Reflecting

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Low energy

I spent the day in bed yesterday, hugging my giant fuzzy pink body pillow, reading back issues of New York Magazine, and watching movies like You've Got Mail on TBS.

Pathetic. I have gone from a healthy, productive high to a sulky, depressive low. I no longer have the momentum to finish remaining projects. Going on the road with rocker gypsies does not seem fun. Leaving the house for any reason, in fact, seems unwise. During times like these, I begin to wonder if there is something seriously--mentally, chemically--wrong with me. If no matter what I do I will returned to a natural depressed state.

Then I wonder if this is just a brief glitch, perhaps hormonal. I did cry, for example, at the end of You've Got Mail yesterday. What a wretched movie, offensive in so many ways. First off, Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks are irritating as all fuck, individually and together. At least in Sleepless in Seattle Nora Ephron had the good sense to keep them apart for all but 5 seconds of the movie. In this movie, their characters are insufferable fuckwits. He is sort of a villainous damp rag. She you just want to kick in the face throughout the entire movie. In fact I think for the movie to work at all you have to want Tom Hanks to kick Meg Ryan in the face. It's a movie kind of about how big business is fucking up the world, but then we are supposed to forgive big business once a human face--Tom Hanks, who is supposed to be flawed but charming--is put on it. In fact, if we are the Meg Ryan character we are supposed not only to forgive but also to fall in love with the person who fucks us over to the point of putting our mother's bookshop out of business and manipulating us into a bogus friendship. Do you know what she says when he reveals that he is the person that she has fallen in love with over email, which is something he has known for some time but has been hiding from her while he squirms his way into her life all with the pretense for the viewer that he does not want her to be shocked and disappointed to find out the email guy is her enemy who has fucked her over? Do you know what she says? "I was so hoping it was you. I was." WHAT THE FUCK?! And do you know what I did? I sobbed. Because it was so romantic. I immediately had to watch Five Easy Pieces in order to wash the romantic-comedy funk off and to have a proper, defensible cry. How can you not cry when Jack Nicholson is on the cliff with his father who is in a wheelchair and who, having suffered a stroke, cannot respond as Jack's character cries, frustrated not because he does not know what to say to a father who cannot respond but because he knows he never knew what to say to his father even or especially when his father could speak?? Fuck you and your brave-new-internet-world, david-falls-in-love-with-goliath drivel, Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks.

I digress. My point of this little critique is this: hormones are quite possibly involved in current mood. Other possibilities are 1) illness. I do feel like I may be coming down with something. I have very little energy and feel like napping all of the time, which is very unusual since I stopped smoking; 2) weather. While still hot, it's dark and drizzly and gloomy; 3) stress. I am beyond freaked out about money and family problems. These problems seem out of my control so I end up repressing a lot of anger, which is exhausting; 4) lack of social interaction. Most of my friends are at the beach or elsewhere, and I have been stuck here working. The most interaction I have is a wave to neighbors and such when I go on my evening run.

All of this is fixable, but it seems advisable for now (okay, at least through Stepmom, Erin Brockavich, and Something's Gotta Give) to stay under the covers.



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