Better late than…
So, I’m a little late on this, but I wanted to write about it anyway. As it turns out, and I’m quite surprised, Iron Man was pretty spectacular. I expected it to be a ridiculous CGI nightmare, but no, the film was solid. I guess I underestimated the fact that Robert Downey Jr. is a total badass. Sara and I went to see it at the drive-in, which also tends to make any movie just a little bit better.
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A stroke?
Did I have a stroke earlier? I was watching Indiana Jones, but he was really old and a little heavy. Then there were aliens that looked recycled from Artificial Intelligence: AI and CG monkeys. I obviously went to see a good movie and stroked out, right? I made all of this up, right? God, I’m scared…
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Silence
Silence takes a great deal of fortitude, and I don’t always have it. I’m not even talking about having to type or spell everything I want to say, that is difficult in an entirely different way. Right now, I’m talking about being in a room full people and hearing the perfect moment for the perfect remark over and over again, but not being able to do anything about it. After awhile, I just quit listening, I get too annoyed, too frustrated. I get lost in my own head, it’s just Mike and Mike’s thoughts, and they’re not always good. The longer the silence goes, the more a certain degree of claustrophobia sets in. I start to wonder things like, “if I actually died, how long would it take anyone to notice?” Then, “No, that’s just stupid, you’re paying someone to make sure you’re okay, and Sara loves you too much to let anything bad happen to you. Also, you fucker, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. If your BiPap spontaneously stops, that’s God’s will and you’d deserve it.” Right after which I think, “But I really don’t wanna’ die.” The inner monologue never stops, my mind is never quiet. Being a silent observer for long spans of time is extremely difficult for me sometimes. I try to think about good things, cheery things, but I inevitably drift through dark places. I think that is my nature, I’m just prone to wander down roads of reverie and melancholy. I don’t see that as bad, it’s just how I am. How I’ve always been. I wonder if that is a cop out. Could I change if I wanted? Do I want to? I have plenty of time to think about it. Silence affords much time for thinking.
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