My Water Is Boiling Over

It feels like improper etiquette to disappear from blogging for ages only to pop up with a moan. I most likely could have come up with some fluff to post before the ho-hum of this post. Perhaps some marshmallow fluffiness to make you smile. Then again, if you can't be starkly honest on your blog, then where the hell can you? Fluffiness be damned.

For a long time, I used this space as a safe place to sound off and order my thoughts, to mend the rough mental path I was on. At one point, I totally found my way through the darkness and, I think, with some work, I'll get there again. When I reread those posts, I stumble through all those life changing realizations, only to come to the understanding that I am not happy. Not now. Not today.

Well, that's depressing to see in this Georgia font so plain and out there. 

Allow me to follow up with an amendment to that unpleasant factoid, I do have happy moments - sometimes often, sometimes many, but at the core of my everyday life, I am not happy. I am exhausted and worried, frustrated and lost. And honestly, I think this is how a lot of people feel. I do not think I am exceptional in my uncertainty or unique in my weariness. Quite the opposite, really. I think I am like most people. I am bumbling along, not sure what I am doing, trying to make a better situation for myself, holding out hope it will change, and I am making the right decisions. I don't know, though, not for sure. 

The funny think about happy moments? Those glimmering moments of happiness and freedom, the shiny spots in an otherwise scuffed and worn out life, are enough ... for now. Eventually, they will stop being enough, and I am hoping I can find my way back to peacefulness before they cease helping me out of bed and putting me to sleep. 

This is not a red flag. One does not need to send the cavalry to help, or post me care packages, nor do you have to fret over whether I will be okay. Because isn't that what we do? We push and pull through, we figure it out and solve the puzzle, we work through it. 

It's like boiling water. How you set a pot on the stove, turn on the heat and think to yourself how much time you have before it boils. You go off to fold the laundry, sweep the house, or open a small business, and when you come back those miniature bubbles are forming, and you think, "Boy, it takes a long time for water to boil, I'll go finish up a few other things." So, you set to it, trying to get as much done as you can, even though you know there is a pot on the stove, and it is going to boil. I mean, it's a certainty, barring the electric being shut off, or you running out of gas, if you have one of those types of ranges - you know that water is going to boil. Except, somewhere between driving a thousand kilometres a week, working six of the last seven days, and trying to prepare for the unpreparable (not a real word), you've forgotten about the pot and, low and behold, it's boiling over, the water spilling down the sides and hissing out its anger on the unforgiving element. You run for it, to take it off the heat, salvage the water inside, but sometimes it boils dry and you ruin a perfectly good pot. 

Well, my water is boiling over. And this post is me running to shut off the heat and save a perfectly good pot. As I sit here in my truck, parked at the side of the road, watching the sun and smelling the ocean, I know life isn't terrible, but that doesn't stop it from feeling terrible at times. Sometimes I simply hate self reflection. 

Beastly

Remember that movie adaptation of Beauty and the Beast called Beastly with Alex Pettyfer and Vanessa Hudgens and it was set in High School and Mary-Kate Olsen was the witch who cursed the spoiled rich boy?

Well, this isn't about that film. Though, if I was forced to admit it, I actually kind of liked the movie. It is what it is - teenage tripe. But like Gossip Girl and Vampire Diaries, there's something to be enjoyed in the shallow depths of the shiny, pretty things. Even if you don't want to say it aloud, for fear it will be the one fact everyone remembers, it's entertaining.

But, like I said. This isn't about Beastly - the movie. It's about Beastly - the state of mind.

Don't you hate it when you wake up and feel beastly. The beast of all beasts. As if the only fitting task would be to tear apart your west wing, smash all the mirrors and sit there brooding over the fact that no one will ever truly love a beast. Of course it's melodramatic and completely unsubstantiated, but in the moment, you want to just lock up your castle and never see anyone ever again. And, on the off chance someone does stumble upon your dwelling, you will toss them in the dungeon. Ha! That will teach them to sell Girl Guide cookies door-to-door. Give me all the thin mints and get in your cell!

This actually sparks a very questionable query. Why was it okay for the Beast to lock Belle's father in the dungeon? Isn't that some sort of form of kidnapping? Or, at the very least, false imprisonment? I mean, he knocked. He called out. Twice, in fact. Still, down to the dungeons with you, old man! And, if anything, shouldn't the enchanted servants take some of the blame? If not all of them, then at least Lumiere!

I regress.

The beastly days are the hardest. They come without warning, or sometimes with warning because you ate a pound of candy the night before, and they set your day off on the wrong foot. On these days, it is the hardest to look presentable. If you have a job that you work from home or at an office where you don't have to interact with the general public, you can squeak by in comfy pants and a hat, and silently wish for the day to end swiftly. This isn't the case when you engage with others and on the off chance you are SUPPOSED to look at the very least decent, it can be a daunting task. Like putting lipstick on a pig.

It gets even worse too. No matter what I wear, I am uncomfortable. It isn't my clothes, either. It's my skin. I am uncomfortable in my body. So, I try to put a little more effort in on the days I wake up in a self conscious puddle of raw emotions and unrealistic expectations of myself. Honestly, that effort tends not to pay off. I only end up feeling as if my time and energy are wasted. That I am foolish for even trying. That I would have been better off cutting holes in a burlap sack and wearing a Halloween mask.

Yes, I know this seems harsh. And, sure, it probably has something to do with the hormones. I hear estrogen is a wicked bitch. Still, once in a blue moon, these days come along. Like yesterday and, if I am being honest, which I so often insist on doing, I am still feeling residual affects today. Here's the truth of the matter:

No amount of pretty dresses, hair combing or makeup can change a Beastly day into a Belle one.  

Those are the facts. In the end, I just try to fake it until I make it through. Or make it to the weekend so I can wear oversized sweaters and no pants. Whichever comes sooner. Something funny did come of this. I told my Sidekick that I felt beastly and he told me I was, "The most beautiful beast of them all." Yeah, I cry laughed over that. It's hilarious, but still cut me a bit.

Crap, I have to add something I am grateful for on here. Ugh. Well, I am happy I can step back and know my beastly feelings are irrational, to a degree. And that I probably don't look as bad as I think I do.

Underwhelming - Day 6

For the longest time, I've always said, it's hard to take Stephen King books and make them into movies. Because he truly is a master of horror, it can be tricky to translate his imagery onto the big screen. Don't get me wrong, it can be done, but I find myself loving the movies that are more dramatic and suspenseful than straight up horror. Great examples of this would be Delores Claiborne, Carrie, Misery, The Green Mile and The Shining.

Horrorfest 2013 had me being adventurous. I selected a unique blend of movies, some I'd seen and others I hadn't, and as you might have noticed, I was excited for this weekend. Unfortunately, last night I chose two  stinkers from the 1980's. The movies were Christine and Children of the Corn, and ended up being a huge let down for the wrap up party for the Stephen King weekend.

When I was thirteen, Christine was one of my favourite books. But a great book doesn't necessarily make a great movie. Because this was directed by John Carpenter I feel bad giving it a thumbs down, like I might be burned at the stake for saying something he put his golden hands on is crap. Sadly, that's exactly what I'm saying, even if he is sacrilegious to horror buffs the world over. Between crappy acting and a weak plot line, I was left feeling unfulfilled. In the book, the main plot was that Christine's previous owner Roland LeBay was so poisoned that his evilness possessed the car. The movie decided to go another route, which failed to explain where Christine's need to kill came from, even why she was doing it. With this one decision, the entire movie was derailed.

What could have been a truly genius film fell short.

Second was Children of the Corn. I do remember being terrified of this movie when I was a child and, for what its worth, it isn't terrible. Like Christine, though, it was left with bad acting and a terrible screen writer. While John Carpenter purposely cut out a pivotal piece of plot from Christine, director Fritz Kiersch apparently didn't change a bloody thing from the book version of COTC. The issue with this is, because Children of the Corn was only a short story, one would actually need to add elements in to have enough substance to make a feature film out of it.

If you watch this movie and aren't left with a lot of questions, then you clearly have a better imagination than I do. This suffered a lack of meat and meander all over the place. Don't get me wrong, the idea is great, it simply wasn't developed enough to make it a ninety-two minute movie. Lastly, what the hell was with Isaac's voice? Was that really necessary?

In the end, I can't really recommend either of these movies. This hurts me more than it hurts you.