Fillums

Yesterday I watch two fillums, as my friend Sue says. I just call them films, but am not nearly as fancy or fanciful as she is.

I love movies. Not as much as I love books, but they are a very close second place. If I started to think about those texts and reels that are important to me, well, not much else would get done.

So, anyway, 24 hours and three films.

District 9. An alien slum, government bad guys, a hapless stooge and disgusting food.
Julie and Julia. A woman without focus or direction, a quitter if you will, and lots of pretty food.
The Book of Eve. Crappy marriage, a quest for independence and nice food.

They are listed in the order of how good they are, with District 9 being the best, J&J only just decent enough and Eve, well, poor Eve is barely good enough, but they do have a common thread. I will give you a hint and share that it is not food, even though foody things dominate parts of each story.

What they all are, are love stories. Is that not the way of good stories? Yes. Yes, it is and that is what makes them eminently watchable.

So, anyway (have to stop writing that) those fillums got me to thinking about what has been happening the past few days.

I have a friend who needs help that I cannot give. She has been ill for a long time. Nothing life threatening or any such thing, but the kind of malaise that depletes the spirit; and since her spirit has never been strong, her suffering is all the more sad for it. Since she lost her job she has been living on her considerable resources, but even that will not last forever.

Today she needed help moving furniture in preparation for the first open house of the condo she wishes to sell. Old carpeting out, new carpeting in and chairs and sofas and table all over the place that need to be returned to order and prettiness for the potential buyers. It is unfortunate that I no longer move heavy objects, not even my own. Just plain sad all around, although it does nothing to diminish our affection for one another. Early in our relationship, whilst on a trip across the big pond, it fell to me to be the person who provided support. That responsibility was increased later on, upon the gradual discovery of her life-long issues. At some final moment it because too great a burden to carry and we broke up, not like lovers, but close friendships gone awry are sort of like that. I have chosen to be part of her life again and I am glad to still be her friend and all that, but in a short time it is as though nothing has changed and even though I do not like it and plan to avoid the falling that friendship invites, but, alas, I have become the hapless stooge. Again.

The past several months have made me aware that whilst I am moving in, generally, a general direction, I lack focus. I have been managing for such a long time to stay out of trouble that simple movement has been enough, has been, in truth, the best for which I could hope. There is a quality of being here that is no longer acceptable to me. Most of this makes no sense to anyone but me and it is not always the case that I can make sense of what happens. I loved, but not well, and when that person approaches now all I feel is fear and, gosh, that is such not a good thing. I get these pops of adrenaline, but not in the way that gets you excited and involved, engaged in some cool and groovy activity. I do not feel the fun part of that hormone (which I am fairly certain is called something else now) and am left only the fight which I cannot do and the flight which I am too chicken to do. After all that happened during the hundred days, I have to wonder why it is that I am still so unwilling to be brave. I can be the bravest, most courageous, most definitively dedicated warrior you ever fucking saw when it comes to being all of that for someone else. I cannot imagine what wonderful or terrible thing needs to happen in order to be able to do that for myself. I do not love assault or dismissal. I do not cherish being used. I am not a quitter, I swear that I am not.

There must be some way to bring the hundred days project here. I need the reminder of it. I need the inspiration. I am hungry.